


Evil Author Day 2021

by the_last_dillards



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Evil Author Day, M/M, wips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:14:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29460366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_last_dillards/pseuds/the_last_dillards
Summary: Six abandoned WIPs, two alternate scenes, and two deleted fics.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 32
Kudos: 16





	1. Index

Be warned, most of these, being WIPs, are pretty ugly. They were written anywhere from between early 2019 (my earliest fic attempts) to some abandoned prompts for Kinktober 2020. They’re not skillful lol. If you see anything you like, feel free to take what you want. They’ll be posted as follows:

Chapter 1: Index

Chapter 2: G-rated Julian/Felix WIP—Julian’s old academy boyfriend visits the station.

Chapter 3: T-rated LMH!Julian/Garak WIP—Julian is a new top of the line LMH program sent to Ds9 in lieu of a real CMO. Fearing that station residents will be disgruntled at being given a holoprogram instead of a Starfleet doctor, Julian’s true nature is kept secret. Garak falls for the hologram.

Chapter 4: T-rated alternate Glass Onion scene—Bashir goes to confront Julian and tells him about his tryst with Garak.

Chapter 5: T-rated alternate Glass Onion scene—Leeta visits Garak’s shop and tells him about meeting Mirror!Bashir and Mirror!Dax.

Chapter 6: T-rated deleted Garak/Bashir fic originally posted in June 2019—An AU where Julian was exiled early on for his augmentations and hid away on Bajor in Bareil’s monastery. Garak is an Order agent tasked with infiltrating the monastery as part of bringing down a growing religious movement on Cardassia.

Chapter 7: T-rated deleted Garak/Bashir fic originally posted in May of 2019—Garak and Julian go to watch a springball match and Garak is appalled by Julian’s choice of outfit.

Chapter 8: M-rated Garak/Bashir WIP—Garak is desperate for money on the newly christened Deep Space Nine (what Bajoran wants to buy from a Cardassian?) and is pointed by Quark in the direction of some opportunities to make some money on the side (aka Cardassian fetish porn)

Chapter 9: T-rated WIP where everyone is fucking everyone behind Sisko’s back. Sisko finds out.

Chapter 10: M-rated WIP from Kinktober—Garak and (trans!)Julian decide they want to try for a baby and so Julian comes off T. Garak is worried and distressed when Julian’s menstrual cycle starts up.

Chapter 11: E-rated WIP from Kinktober—Julian takes Garak to a sex club and shows him off.


	2. WIP: Julian/Felix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G-rated Julian/Felix WIP—Julian’s old academy boyfriend visits the station. Written very early 2019.

It was a bright and cloudless day on DS9. (Not sunny because they were so far away from the Bajoran star that it looked like an indistinguishable speck in the sky.) It was always that way of course. Except that one time there was a blizzard on the promenade. Or that other time some of the power transformers overheated, melting several circuits and plunging the station into total darkness for about 13 hours. Or that other time when...well, that wasn’t the point. 

The point was, Julian Bashir was in a good mood. A really good mood actually. At exactly 0900, a transport from Denebola was arriving. That transport had some passengers that had transferred from a ship originating on Betazed. And that ship had a couple passengers with interconnecting voyages from Vulcan. And then that one had come from the Jupiter Station which had to stop on Andoria due to engine troubles, transfer all its cargo and passengers to another spacecraft. And before all that, a ship arrived on the station coming directly from Ferenginar. When considering the sheer number of spacecraft in the alpha quadrant and the few that docked at DS9 per week, it really WAS hard to get a ride there. 

But the point was, Felix would soon be on the station! It had been years since they had last seen each other--eight years, eleven months, two days, thirteen hours and thirty-three minutes actually. He was bringing the spy holoprogram he had been working on for years, and most importantly, he was bringing himself. 

The doctor had met Felix in his engineering extension courses. Both were a bit socially awkward, without any real friends and so they hit it off right away. The programmer loved Bond films and Julian enjoyed anything with adventure. They’d spend hours together, marathoning spy flicks and messing around in between. The idea for this program had been born somewhere in the middle, cuddling together and figuring out what to watch next.

Felix had always dreamed of being a holo-programmer. He had grown up on the Jupiter Station where some of the very first Holodecks in the Federation were installed. But his parents were 3rd and 5th generation Starfleeters and so he’d gone to Academy. It was obvious to everyone his heart wasn’t in it. He consistently moved through classes with the bare minimum (the exceptions being transporter and holo technology classes of course) and dropped out a semester before graduation. All through school, his time was spent rendering holo-models and programming them to become places and people with intricate stories tied to them. By the time he left, he had a sizable portfolio of work and went into business with a Ferengi who produced and installed holosuites.

Felix never stopped talking to Julian though and those late night conversations stayed with him. And so, nearly ten years later, their vision had come to be. It didn’t usually take so long to produce a program but most were produced by a team, the work split. Instead he had worked on this program in his off time alone, designing every object and character carefully. The program was interactive with thousands of possible quests and side-quests and more than 50 possible plot-relevant characters. (All characters were romanceable, even Falcon if you knew how to play it right) You were guaranteed a unique experience every time. 

It was a testament to what they had shared and the love between them. There had been a time where Julian had thought they might become a real couple and have a happy ending together. They housed together after Felix had left school for about 2 months. They had discovered during that time that sometimes it doesn’t matter how much you think you love each other, some pairs are simply not fit for cohabitation.

Eight years was a long time. But Julian was ready.

“You’ve certainly got a swing to your step!” Jadzia called out as he passed her in the corridor. 

He slowed down his long strides to turn around, now walking backwards. “An old friend from the academy is docking today!”

His enthusiasm was contagious and Jadzia laughed, not knowing why, “Well, you’ll have to swing by so I can meet them later!”

“Don’t worry I will!” Julian called back as he rounded the corner. 

Docking bay 2 held a Denebulan passenger shuttle filled to the brim with tourists. Felix had only had to spend about a week on it, short compared to the rest of his six week long journey into the heart of Federation space and back but still by the looks of the families coming off board, dressed in vacation clothes and already wearing cheesy, replicated approximations of a Bajoran earring, Julian could tell that Felix probably hadn’t left his room the entire time. 

And if Felix had cabin fever and wanted to get out and start exploring the station right away, that was well enough for Julian. He had enough energy buzzing around in him to run laps around the outer docking ring ten times over, and with his enhancements, he probably could.

After what seemed the majority of the ship’s travelers had disembarked, Julian was worried that somehow he had missed the man. He didn’t really want to have to have them playing a game of chase back and forth as they tried to locate each other until one of them finally took it to the security office and Odo had to call them to them down on the stationwide intercoms. That would be embarrassing. It also wouldn’t be the first time it had happened to the two of them. 

Finally a man Julian’s age stumbled out, a pack over each shoulder and one on his back. “Julian!” he grinned.

“Felix! How was your trip!” Julian made his way forwards and took the bags from his shoulders, swinging them both up over one of his own.

“Loud. And stuffy. Seeing you here now though, I would do it again in a near eternal time loop if I so long as you were at the end of the line.” Julian huffed a laughed and smiled, charmed. Felix had always been a romantic, if not a very graceful one.

“Even a second of waiting is too long to suffer to see you,” Julian schmoozed back. He had a bad habit of reflecting people’s flirtatious habits, no matter how cringe-worthy or blundering those flirtations were.

“Wanna go explore my guest quarters with me?” 

“I would’ve thought you might want to drop off your things then go to stretch your legs a little first.”

“You can help me stretch my legs there.”

“Maybe rewatch a few Bond films?”

“Might thoughts exactly.” Felix attempted a wink during which he closed his eye too tightly and mostly just scrunched his entire face up. 

They made their way from the docking bay and into a lift, their shoulders bumping playfully every few steps. Julian bustled with energy while Felix bounced on his heels the entire ride. Once they arrived at the habitat ring, Felix read off his

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. Ends right in the middle of a sentence :)


	3. WIP: LMH!Julian/Garak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T-rated LMH!Julian/Garak WIP—Julian is a new top of the line LMH program sent to Ds9 in lieu of a real CMO. Fearing that station residents will be disgruntled at being given a holoprogram instead of a Starfleet doctor, Julian’s true nature is kept secret. Garak falls for a hologram. Written April 2019.
> 
> Story Notes:  
> -This is an AU/UA where EMHs and LMHs were implemented earlier in the Star Trek timeline.   
> -Originally intended to be about ten chapters

“Installation successful. Welcome to your new Long-Term Medical Hologram Programme! You are currently running version 2.340. Would you like me to walk you through initial setup?”

“Yes, please,” the Chief groaned, wiping a hand over his face. He had spent the last week figuring out how to get this fancy new piece of shit Star Fleet technology to work with the Cardassian computers. 

Dax sat next to him and smiled, amused. It had been a long week.

The holographic image of a young man stood before them. It stood unnaturally still, back and shoulders stiff and squared. There was no movement save for its mouth as it spoke. O’Brien was reminded of how Data had been sometimes.

“Default language is currently set to Federation Standard. Would you like to change default language?”

“No.”

“Holographic display is currently set to Human male default. Would you like to customize holographic display?”

“No.”

Jadzia leaned over and knocked his shoulder teasingly. “What chief? Don’t want to make the doctor your dream man?”

“I’m married, thank you!”

The one good thing that had come with this agonizing week of running repairs around the station and setting up the Infirmary to run the LMH was that he had gotten the chance to know the science officer fairly well. It felt good to have a friend among the chaos that was DS9.

The programme continued on as their jesting temporarily lapsed to silence. “The following databases are currently connected: Starfleet Medical, Bajoran Medical, Starfleet Archival, Bajoran Archival, Station Security. Would you like to modify connected databases?”

“No.”

“Interface adaptive personality and memory modification is currently stored to isolinear rod Q subsection M with 876 terabytes free storage. Would you like to change memory storage?”

“No.”

“Default interface name is Julian Bashir. Would you like to change interface name?”

Dax looked at O’Brien and shrugged. “Preferences?”

He squinted and frowned slightly as if in thought. “Yeah, I was thinking Fluffy after my rabbit as a kid.” Jadzia laughed. “Nah, I don’t got anything.”

“Default’s fine.”

“Please define program security parameters.”

“Set security to station standard found on database Station Security. Program control permissions to Head Nurse Jabara, Lieutenant Jadzia Dax, and Chief of Operations Miles O’Brien.”

“Initial setup complete. Would you like to review or change options before medical interface startup?” O’Brien rolled his eyes and motioned cutting across his throat, miming dying to Dax as the program continued prattling on, oblivious to its management team’s exasperation. “Database and security options can be reviewed and updated after leaving set up through key phrase: Change program infrastructure. Personalization options can be reviewed and updated through key phrase: Change program personalization.”

“No. Commence startup. Please.”

“Loading. First-time database connection: Successful.   
First-time interface hologram startup: Successful.   
First-time interface adaptive personality programme startup: Successful.   
Start-up complete. Would you like to perform system updates?”

“Gods, no. Perform updates at next shutdown.”

“Updates will begin at next program shutdown. Opening interface.” 

The entire body of the holographic image before them slumped suddenly. Not like it was about to fall over but like it had been touching a live wire that had been flicked off. The interface’s eyes focused on them and its face pulled into an easy grin.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Bashir, station LMH! What can I do for you today?”

Jadzia smiled back reflexively and spoke first, “Hi, Doctor Bashir. I’m Lieutenant Dax and this is Chief O’Brien. We’re your program maintenance and management team.”

“Nice to meet you! Where is Head Nurse Jabara? I have her listed as a third program owner.”

Miles answered, “She’s been seeing patients and cleaning up the infirmary. There’s still some days to go to get everything into working order.”

“Do you know where we are?” Dax asked.

“According to files, we are aboard Bajoran-Federation station Deep Space Nine.”

“Alright, tell me, Dr Bashir-”

“Please, call me Julian!” The program attempted a flirtatious wink at her that used his facial muscles a touch too much and instead looked like a stifled blink. Bad programming or intentional ‘humanizing’ flaw she wasn’t sure.

“Alright, Julian. Tell me what you know of the Bajoran occupation.”

“Would you like accounts from Bajoran or Federation archives.”

“A mix based on analysis of most accurate accounts.”

“The occupation of Bajor by the Cardassian Union occurred from [INSERT DIALOGUE]”

“Sounds right. Okay, so what do you gather your position is here based on current information?”

[INSERT DIALOGUE]

“Julian, you should try to give answers based on your own analysis for all questions not just medical ones.”

“Right, I’ll do that.”

The Chief tapped his combadge. “O’brien to Sisko.”

“This is Sisko. Don’t tell me you need to put off looking at my replicator again to work on that program.”

“Actually, Sir, I wanted to let you know that I’ve got it up and running in the infirmary right now.”

“Excellent! I’ll get Kira and we’ll be down to meet him.”

[TIME LAPSE]

Kira and Sisko walked into the room already in discussion. “It’s just that I don’t understand why Star Fleet can’t send us a real doctor! We have a medic shortage as it is. You’d think that after discovering the Celestial Gates that we might be important enough to them to warrant more than a fancy hologram.”

“Starfleet’s answer is the same as before. This station only has 300 full time residents. It’s still small and they need to test out the program somewhere too far away for it to sync with pre-existing adaptive memory banks. They need to make sure that it can start over from scratch and work on its own without pre-existing memory.”

“Great, we’re not important enough to even get a program that you’ll know will work right.”

“If the program isn’t working out or we need more staff, Starfleet will send us more medical personnel. But until that need presents itself, this program will have to do.”

Kira huffed, clearly not done with this fight in the long run.

“Hello! I am Doctor Julian Bashir, station LMH. What assistance can I provide?”

“I’m Commander Sisko and this is our Liaison officer, Major Kira. We’re here to see how your set up went.”

“Marvelous! I was just being checked that my understanding of current affairs and station status is accurate. Frankly, I’m very pleased where I’m stationed. Real frontier medicine!”

“Frontier medicine?” Kira raised a brow.

“It’s my understanding that most current LMH programs are operating on minor stations inside Federation space. Easy and hardly exciting. But this- this is where the adventure is. The farthest reaches of the galaxy. One of the most remote outposts available. This is where heroes are made. Right here, in the wilderness.”

“This wilderness is my home.”

“Well, I- I- I didn't mean-” 

“The Cardassians left behind a lot of injured people, Doctor. Hopefully, you can make yourself useful by bringing your superior Federation technology and medicine to the natives. Oh, you'll find them a friendly, simple folk.”

The other three watched the exchange, cringing.

Kira turned to the Commander. “They’re not going to like it, you know. My people already feel Starfleet is walking all over us. No one’s going to want a machine giving them an exam.”

“With all due respect Major, but its hardly any different from a having a scan performed with a medical tricorder,” the LMH said. The group ignored him.

Sisko sighed. “You may be right, Major. Doctor, in the future, I don’t want you to advertise that you’re an LMH. Don’t lie about it. But don’t bring it up on your own. Holographic personnel is a technology only used by or known about in the Federation right now and it’s uncommon enough that it’s not really well known there outside of Starfleet either. Most people won’t question you beyond wonder why you’re never seen out socializing.”

Bashir blinked. “Alright.”

“Look, I’ve got reports to fill out. I need to be getting back to Ops.”

“Major, it was a pleasure meeting you.” Bashir smiled.

“Yeah, I’m sure it was.”

“Julian, I think we may need to talk about your social skills.”

* * *

If there was one thing Garak hated, it was doctors. It wasn’t that he held a personal grudge against them as people. He just found the profession generally invasive. Too many questions and he couldn’t force his body to hide answers in quite the way he could with his mind. 

But unfortunately one of the downsides of being beaten and left for dead in a corner of what was last week ore processing, found by the righteous and upstanding Starfleet security on its very first rounds of the station, was that he couldn’t physically refuse medical treatment. The medics would be hard pressed to find an inch of him that wasn’t swollen or bruised or cut open. His tongue was bloodied and thick from biting on it and he couldn’t make it work right to tell them that he would, under no circumstances, be visiting the infirmary. 

To be honest, (hah!) Garak couldn’t make his entire body work right. His limbs were sluggish and missed the medics by a significant margin as he tried to push them away. Maybe the transporters were malfunctioning again. Or maybe the Bajorans simply delighted in having his suffering on display as they cleared his airway, set an oral airway in his mouth, put him on a stretcher and moved him up the levels and through the hallways to the Infirmary. Remaining residents on the station gawking at the Cardassian left to rot. 

At least his wire was still working. The former spy didn't much appreciate the shame that came with being overpowered by an unruly group of miners but he did enjoy the endorphins his brain provided as a result. 

They reached their destination fairly quickly and Garak was moved from stretcher to biobed in one smooth movement. By this point, most of what he experienced was in an uncomprehending haze, a mix of concussion and feel good hormones. A scanner was run over him and he was given a couple different hypos. The swelling went down. Good, he didn’t much like not being able to breathe clearly. Reminded him too much small rooms with small air. 

Garak drifted in that between non comprehensive state between aware and unconscious for some time before, like waking up to a knife, his time and place came back to him suddenly. A young man in blue Starfleet uniform stood over him with a tricorder. 

The man looked up as the quality and pace of Garak’s breathing changed in those first brief seconds. “Oh, hello, you’re awake! I’m Doctor Bashir, the station’s emergency and primary care physician. How are you feeling?”

“How would you expect?” 

Bashir nodded sympathetically. “That was a pretty rough beating you had there. Perhaps it would be easier for you to give a number rating from 0 to 10. Zero being completely nonexistent pain. Ten being uncontrollable pain.”

Doctors. Always too nosy. “Five.” Going for the in between number was always the best option in these types of questions. The middlemost choice was rarely well defined and could mean almost anything he needed it to at a future time. 

“Is there anywhere in particular that’s feeling pain or that concerns you?”

“Yes, my heart.” He gave a pause so that the man had time to furrow his brow as he glanced down at the tricorder readings again, clearly not expecting this answer. Bashir was pretty cute. Well, for a doctor that is. “Every time I look at you, I seem to be experiencing a slight twinge.”

There were three likely outcomes from this comment. One, most ideal, this young Federationer would be uncomfortable with being flirted with by someone who’s species held a reputation for brutality. He would hurry his examination along and push him out the Infirmary door. Two, also to his advantage, the doctor take kindly his playful attitude and gain him a potential in to Starfleet. And perhaps some enjoyable company. Three, neutral, the doctor would continue on as normal and ignore his come-on. He did not expect what came next.

“According to my sources, Mr Garak, Cardassians usually express amorous intent through debate, playful aggression, or argument.” The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps your sources were biased.”

“Perhaps.”

Bashir began scanning him again with the tricorder.

“Odo came in and identified you earlier. In case you were wondering how I knew who you were.”

“Ah,” Garak intoned. He had been wondering.

“You never really answered my question earlier. Is there anything paining or concerning you? Physically or mentally.”

Garak smiled. “A rather one track mind you have, my dear doctor. But no, with your wondrous healing touch, I am feeling positively aglow.”

Doctor Bashir smiled, “I try my best to do my job, Mr Garak.”

“Oh, it's just Garak. Plain, simple Garak.” 

The doctor beamed at that. “Well, Garak, plain and simple, I can say that you’re now the picture of health. Just avoid any more beatings for me in the future, alright?” Bashir winked at him cheekily. “However feel free to come by the infirmary for anything you may need, even if its just to say hi.”

Garak stood up. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, doctor.” He made a move as if to walk out through the privacy curtain but instead moved behind where the doctor was sitting instead. The Cardassian set his hands on the doctor’s shoulders and rubbed his thumbs firmly along his shoulders. “I'm so glad to have made such an interesting new friend today.” And then Garak was out and gone from the infirmary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked for a year in IT and one of my jobs was re-imaging computers and installing programs for every new hire, temp, and/or department transfer in a company of a few thousand. That whole first section was me expressing my pain lol. Tedious as heck.


	4. Glass Onion Deleted Scene: Mirror!Bashir confronts Julian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T-rated alternate Glass Onion scene—Bashir goes to confront Julian and tells him all about his tryst with Garak. Incomplete scene from an alternate ch2.

Julian tried not to stare when he saw Bashir enter the replimat.

The tray Bashir carried back with him from the replicator was an unusual mix of exotic and exorbitant flavors, most of which were definitely not breakfast foods. An offshoot of not having access to many foods during his whole life, Julian figured.

It was hard not to note the extra swagger in his usual arrogant gait, and his usual smug demeanor was somehow even more so. The tray was plopped unceremoniously and loudly on the table before Bashir sat himself in a chair, took a large bite out of an ikribun, and asked, “You’re not fucking that Cardie, are you?”

Nothing could’ve caught Julian off guard more. “He has a name, thank you, and no. Garak and I aren’t together that way. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Oh, I think it is, darling. Wouldn’t want to be a homewrecker to myself after all.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not one for a spoonhead, normally. Bunch of dominatrix bastards. But I was horny last night as it were and that one’s always a bit stare-y, and well, a willing Cardie cunt? Figured it was a once in a lifetime chance. His weird slit-thing was a bit too cold for my tastes the first time around but after enough warm ups, it’s really not too different from ramming any other hole. You should have heard him, absolutely squealing for it.”

“Well, assuming you’re telling the truth, frankly, that’s none of my business. Garak can do whatever he wants.”

“I just thought you might be interested in the details, seeing as you and him are so close.”

“Look, Captain Bashir. I don’t know what you hope to gain from this but I’m not having this conversation with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no memory of writing this. Based on document last edit dates, it might’ve actually been before I wrote the first chapter of Glass Onion. Just goes to show how long some of these stories have been bouncing around my head, I guess.


	5. Glass Onion Deleted Scene: Leeta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T-rated alternate Glass Onion scene—Leeta visits Garak’s shop and tells him about meeting Mirror!Bashir and Mirror!Dax. Scene from an alternate ch3—back when I was considering a mirror!Dax/Leeta storyline to mirror (hah!) the mirror!Bashir/Garak one.

By the time Leeta came in, Garak’s mood had managed to lift to a calm grey. He’d indulged her in a few minutes chit-chat even after her order had been rung up and paid for.

They’d talked Quark’s newest schemes. Opinions on Bajoran fashions. Interesting people they’d seen around.

And it was there that the conversation managed to pique Garak’s interest. He even set down the sewing he had been working on to give Leeta his full attention as she spoke.

Leeta had been working the dabo tables last night and had therefore been full privy to the other Bashir’s boorish behavior.

It shouldn’t intrigue him so, really. Clearly this Captain Bashir wasn’t his Doctor in any way, shape, or form. And yet… _And yet, he was._ Even if it was only in some distant, far flung potential for what his Julian could’ve become. 

Leeta had been just as shocked as he was upon meeting Bashir. The idea that any version of dear Julian could be anything but sweet and kind was a perversion of all known reality.

Quark had given his staff a quick briefing on the situation before the dinner rush, letting them know these look alikes with the same names needed to be treated as completely separate and new people. Or in Quark speak, paying customers with their own unique vices to exploit. 

There’d been several people she recognized distantly here and there that had come in shortly after. 

Many of them were strange ghosts of the people she knew. Quiet, haunted, distant. It reminded her of Bajor’s Occupation and that first tentative year after it.

But then there were others. Boisterous, aggressive, ravenous. People who had seen death and suffering and were affected by it, not by becoming scared animals or shutting down, but by embracing life’s shortness.

Bashir was one of these. He’d come in with the air of a scoundrel, giving the dabo girls a shameless once over before making his way to the bar where he ordered Quark’s finest kanar. He’d been given a bottle and promptly spat on the counter upon reading the label.

_I’d rather drink Cardassian piss,_ he’d declared. 

Quark had wiped down the sullied spot and talked him into a bottle of whiskey instead.

Soon after, he’d come around to the dabo tables, drink in hand. 

Bashir had put on a rakish grin, one that distantly reminded Leeta of Julian and introduced himself before wrapping an arm around her waist. Leeta was no doubt too polite to mention such a detail, but Garak could imagine the sort of unpleasant grimy feeling and stench that would’ve followed such an embrace.

Leeta became agitated in her storytelling at this point. Strange men wrapping their arms around her was an unfortunate regularity in her job. Normally, she was well versed at defusing situations and distracting them with the dabo tables. But this was different from some drunken Klingon or Bolian. 

This was Julian Bashir, or a Julian Bashir. He wore the same face as her friend and ex-boyfriend and in fleeting moments smiled the same as him, but then turned around moments later to act like a bratty child.

Evidently, one of the other dabo girls, M’Pella, saw this. She came to save the day, leaning over on Bashir and flirting while Leeta suddenly decided to take her break. 

Bashir didn’t put up a fight, happy so long as he was receiving attention that flattered his ego.

By the time Leeta’s fifteen was up and she was forced back onto the floor by Quark, Bashir was well occupied trying his luck on the dabo table.

Instead, she soon found herself swept up by another mirror image.

The other Jadzia was much more personable than Bashir. She was charming, if not overly blunt and churlish in her own right. Still, her company was pleasant enough as Leeta spun the wheel for her and was enthralled with tales from the other side.

There was another Leeta in the other world. Only instead of a dabo girl, this one was a political aide on Bajor and spy for the Terran resistance, passing messages around, whispering things in the right ears, making sure the right people were in the right places.

Garak found the idea intriguing, Leeta as a spy. He couldn’t deny there might be some potential there. After all, she’d grown up under the Occupation and seemed to have come out of it no worse for wear, or at least not in any decipherable way. Someone who could hold such a resolve and continue holding it even after spinning dabo wheels for the clientele of Quark’s evening after evening was a force to be admired.

Then Leeta blushed in her storytelling. The other Jadzia had asked her out to dinner. They’d made plans for tomorrow night at the Klingon restaurant. 

But now she was left with the awkward question of their Jadzia, her friend, finding out. 

Dinner didn’t necessarily mean a date, but there had been enough flirtation in the invitation that it was very difficult to discount it as one. She would discuss it with Jadzia, knew it was the wisest course of action, but the Lieutenant had been busy helping out with ship repairs and making sure their guests could find their way back to the universe that they came from. What would she think if she found out after the fact?

Garak didn’t have a good answer for her. 

And with that awkward end to their conversation, Garak had thanked her for her patronage and Leeta was on her way.


	6. Deleted Fic: Acts of Purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T-rated Garak/Bashir fic originally posted in June 2019—An AU where Julian was exiled early on for his augmentations and hid away on Bajor in Bareil’s monastery. Garak is an Order agent tasked with infiltrating the monastery as part of bringing down a growing religious movement on Cardassia. Originally written for AuroraNova’s [Deadly Sins fest.](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Deadly_Sins_Garak_Bashir_Fan_Fest)
> 
> This bastard is a monstrous 14k and I hate hate hate it. Didn’t like it when I posted it and never did get it to a place where I liked it. This was the third story I ever finished and was the one that taught me not to write in present tense, that I hate writing long fics, and that I don't do well with deadlines. The premise itself isn’t horrible and I do like some of the middle, but I’ve never been fond of the beginning and the end was mega rushed to try to get done by the fest’s close. Still, some people liked it and really wanted a sequel so I’m reposting for them.

A young man kneels before Garak. He is far from the first to do so and will likely be nowhere near the last. Their reasons are numerous. Most often, they relate to pain and pleading for mercy. Much less frequently they beg for other things entirely. This Bajoran in monk’s robes’ case is entirely different. He doesn’t know Garak is there.

The man is totally oblivious. His knees are planted firmly in the dirt, absorbed in his work and weeding between the ferns with his back to his admirer. And Garak does admire. His neck slopes long and graceful over his work. It’s perhaps rather skinny by Cardassian standards but there is an elegance to it nonetheless.

Watching him work makes Garak long for his days back on Romulus; Simple times where the majority of his hours were spent tending to decorative bushes and mentally noting every individual or exchange he happened to come across. 

A muttered cursing from the Bajoran brings Garak back. He has dawdled long enough. Garak takes several steps backwards down the forest path and then moves forward again at a slower pace, taking care to make a racket stepping on leaves and sticks. 

Clearing his throat, the Cardassian calls out his friendliest, “Excuse me!”

The man ahead of him jumps and turns quickly, falling on his behind in the process. 

“I do apologize! I assure you, I did not mean to cause any alarm.” Garak quickens to him and offers a hand to help him up.

This is an offensive act between Cardassians. To another of his kind, it would suggest that they’re weak, feeble, and unable to help themself. To make the offer through hand-to-hand contact is especially egregious. There are implications that certain things might be owed. Among Bajorans, however, the act was considered polite. Through the most rudimentary of glances however, Garak could now tell this was no Bajoran.

Or, well, he _could_ be. There were cases of genetic mutation or deformities of the face. Not to mention that most monasteries were known to be hotbeds of resistance activity. The man’s face could’ve been surgically altered for some purpose. If so, the Bajoran insurgents were rather poor planners in allowing him outside where he could be seen, and based on the Order’s knowledge, Garak knew the rebels weren’t _that_ stupid. No, most likely this pretty and startled animal before him is simply Human. 

The monk stares at his outstretched hand and Garak almost takes it back, thinking maybe this man has an awareness of Cardassian social conduct. But then the Human reaches out and sets his palm gently against Garak’s, fingers wrapping around to grasp and then more firmly as the Cardassian pulls him up. As he lets go, Garak feels rough and damp of dirt clinging where the man had touched him. It’s a gritty soil. _Loam,_ he notes.

The Human looks nervous and begins stuttering out, “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you come up the path! I meant no disrespect! I promise. I, uh,” he swallows nervously, “Just got really very absorbed in pulling the karnat weeds and see with them you have to really dig down and get the main stalk of the root otherwise they just grow back in a couple days. They can be really stubborn and, um-”

“It is a shame,” Garak interrupts, “that such a lovely garden should have to suffer such a tiresome pest. The kernat is native to Cardassia IV, I believe. It strangles most other plants out of the spaces it grows there too. Thankfully, there are a few common animals which feed on it and help keep the plant in line. I imagine that on Bajor ridding gardens of it is much harder.”

“I wouldn’t have much to compare it to. Do you plant?”

“I’ve been known to plant quite a variety of things. But, my dear, I think we are avoiding the obvious topic of conversation.”

The man swallows and nods once, glancing down before meeting his eyes directly. A show of bravery. 

Garak speaks, “I am Elor Gerrit, a Glinn of the 2nd Order and friend of Glinn Wryvolt Toran.” Some small change takes place in the monk’s face. “We were stationed together in the Hedrikspool Provence. He told me of this place, of Vedek Bareil, and that he could help me. I have come to seek his guidance.” He lets his last words drop heavily as if he were ashamed to admit it. 

The Human seems unsure, brow furrowed.

“I promise you, I do not mean any harm to you or the Vedek or the monastery. If you could direct me to him, I would be forever grateful.”

Finally, the monk seems to make a decision and stands straight. He says with a certain humor in his imitation, “Well, Glinn Gerrit, I am Julian Bashir, a Prylar of the Valley Order.” That didn’t sound like any Bajoran name Garak had ever heard of. Probably an actual Human then. Strange. “And I am a friend of Vedek Bareil.”

Bashir wipes his hands along his sides, smearing the rest of the mud along his robes. Garak cringes internally. His mother had always been very particular about keeping clothes clean and to their purpose.

“Please,” Garak bows slightly. “Call me Garrit. Plain and simple.”

“Well, Garrit, plain and simple, please follow me.”

The Human leads him down the forest path into a denser but well maintained area of flora. Interspersed among the plants are carved stone obelisks that are clearly of some age. Bashir notices him eyeing the rocks and begins an unrequested lecture on their histories. This then devolves into listing theorized methods of transportation that the ancients used to move the heavy stones from more than 800 units away and then further into an oration on geological mechanisms which created the rocks. 

Garak is mostly silent during this time except for occasional noises of acknowledgement to the monk’s babbling. Being a spy is all about collecting information and realizing that even the small things can be meaningful. Somehow, Garak doesn’t think that when he reports this very interesting information that it will come into use anytime soon. Thankfully, the walk is relatively short compared to his earlier trek from town.

They come to a building relatively well hidden among the thick foliage. The amount of plant life on and around it would be useful in avoiding detection from basic scans, Garak notes. They step inside and his sensitive Cardassian nose is assaulted by an overpowering sickly sweet scent. Incense. Garak quietly endeavours to finish this mission quickly.

The pair barely make it past the foyer before a gruff voice stops them. “Prylar Bashir, what is this?”

Another man, dressed in full (clean!) Prylar’s regalia, appears from a corner to the side and behind them. Odd. Garak hadn’t noticed anyone in that direction. Odder still, he is fairly certain the monastery door would’ve hit the man as it swung inwards.

And all this even still was not as strange as the man’s face. It was unlike any alien Garak had ever seen. Smooth and stiff as if it were prosthetic. And when still had the Bajorans become so open to outsiders in their religion? A tactic in recruiting otherworlders to help fight their cause perhaps?

“This is Garrit. Wryvolt sent him our way. He wants to speak with Vedek Bareil.”

“Oh? And since when is finding a Cardassian wandering near the premises and happening to know a familiar name good enough reason to lead him inside? You should have called an alarm. If he wants to speak to the Vedek, he still would’ve found his chance and you wouldn’t have chanced placing us all in danger.”

“Well, it's a little late for that now. He’s here and he wants to talk to Bareil. What would you have me do?”

“Well, we can’t exactly ask him to come back another day. He might decide to return with friends. And unfortunately for him, the Vedek is busy right now.”

Bashir looked unconvinced. “Is he really?”

“Yes, really!”

They seemed to simultaneously remember Garak’s presence. “Garrit, I’m sorry, let me introduce you. This is Prylar Odo.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Garak schmoozed. 

“”Humph!”

“Forgive me if the question is obtrusive but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen any of your species before.”

“I’d be shocked if you had. I’m the only one of my kind. At least that we know of.”

Several puzzle pieces clicked together at once. “Odo! You wouldn’t happen to be that shapeshifter I’ve heard so much about.”

“I am. And before you ask, no, I do not do the Cardassian neck trick anymore and I will not show you.”

Bashir gives a quizzical, “Cardassian neck trick?”

Odo ignores him and obviously eager to leave the subject behind, plows on back to his conversation with Bashir. “The Vedek is currently predisposed. The Prophets have been calling to him and he doesn’t wish to be disturbed. I don’t know when he’ll be ready to begin meeting with unscheduled guests or even lead prayers again. I’ve taken over his congregational duties temporarily.”

Garak won’t be ignored. “Are you available then perhaps to speak to?” 

Odo was far from his first choice of people to make contact with here, especially based on his suspicious nature but speaking to him would be better than no one.

“No. Prylars cannot meet with individuals to take confessions or give religious guidance. And unfortunately, it seems you’ve come at a time when everyone bearing the titles that can are unavailable.”

“Are you sure there’s no one-”

Bashir interrupts. Rude. “I could talk to you. If you would like.”

Garak looks at him with renewed interest. The pretty young man had already proved himself a talkative one, ready to give out information on a whim. The problems beheld with him was that he was relatively low ranking and had a tendency to overshare. Garak would have to carefully pick out what was and wasn’t useful and guide conversations so that they wouldn’t stray. 

Bashir also wouldn’t know things directly. Between his modest position and likely reputation for going off at the mouth, he wouldn’t be told much. But not all information had to come in a single piece. Bashir who lives here, who tends to the arboretum would likely see many things and not understand their significance as pieces to a larger puzzle that he was meant to hide from prying eyes and ears. And that could be even more useful. It would help him extract information without suspicion from the monk. Yes, this boy could work.

Garak answers, “Yes, thank you. I think I would appreciate that.”

“Prylar Bashir! May I speak with you in private please,” Odo grouses. He takes the other aside just down the hall and they begin muttering back and forth. It isn’t the first time Garak curses his Cardassian ancestors for their poor sense of hearing.

Many hushed whispers later, the two return. Bashir makes his way over to Garak. “Odo’s going to get a room set up for you until the Vedek is ready. While he’s doing that we can talk. Follow me.”

The Cardassian is led down a long hall. After a couple turns, they enter a small room with walls painted a light peach. Probably to make it feel bigger to its occupants, Garak surmises. He is not fooled.

It doesn’t help that floorspace is cluttered with furniture. A large wooden table sits at the center of the room with a couple chairs on one side and a cushioned bench against the wall on the other. Above the bench is a window. The wall opposite hosts a small recess with a vase full of orchids inside.

Prylar Bashir makes a motion for him to sit as he slides a panel to close the room off.

Garak settles into a chair and begins, “I am truly sorry if I’ve caused any trouble for you, my dear.”

Bashir waves it off. “Odo is just a bit paranoid. I don’t know enough about his people to really hypothesize but I get the feeling it’s a common trait for his species.”

“I know Wryvolt came here many times but I must ask, is it common for you to receive unexpected Cardassian visitors? You seem to have a plan in place.”

The Prylar seats himself on the bench across from Garak before replying. “No, not really. Wryvolt’s the only one who ever came here and he didn’t show up out of the blue. No offense.”

“None taken,” Garak smiles pleasantly. “How was he able to arrange a meeting?”

“He used to meet with a Ranjen who worked as a sanitarian in Hedrikspool some years ago before the man was transferred to the mines for some minor infraction. The Ranjen was able to arrange for him and Bareil to meet after he found out he had been charged. Obviously the distance prevented Wryvolt from visiting too often but once he was up for promotion, he was given a choice of a few positions and chose something closer. He never told you any of this?” 

“You must understand, to even begin approaching a conversation that would involve visiting a Bajoran monastery for personal reasons is bordering on treason. He and I spoke of many things but we tried to keep our discussions short and to the point. I haven’t seen or communicated with Wryvolt since he left Hedrikspool.”

“No one’s heard from him here in a while either. I hope he’s okay.” 

“As do I.” 

Garak knows for a fact that he is not. Glinn Toran has been in Order custody for nearly three months now and anyone to survive that amount of time either held a continual wealth of information or was resilient to the extreme. In either case, long term visitations with the Order was not good for one’s health.

There is a short quiet between them. They both know that only a small list of things could’ve happened to a man like Glinn Toran. 

In the moments between, Garak thinks. So far, all the information Bashir has given him correlates very well with what Toran has said. He needs more information however to find out just how accurate the Glinn’s desperate confessions had been before Garak attempts to begin weaving a tale of woe to draw the young Prylar in. 

Garak opens his mouth and breaks the silence. “I must admit I am somewhat surprised to find so many aliens here. Wryvolt had told me that Bajorans are very protective of their religion and distrustful of the presence of outsiders in it, especially in clergy type roles. But perhaps times are changing?”

“I’m afraid it's a little more complicated than that. Prylar Odo and I are special cases. And even then, there are many in the Vedek assembly who are not happy about our roles here. I’ll probably never become anything more than a Prylar but that’s okay. I’m not here for status or rank.”

“Don’t you find it demeaning that you’re prevented from earning more for yourself because of your species? You are a Federation originate, yes? I know your type believes strongly in fairness and equality between races.”

Bashir holds eye contact with him. “I believe in the equality of species, yes.” A pause. “But I accept that the Prophets have chosen the Bajoran people as their charge. I am here to serve the will of the Prophets however they see fit. Nothing more.”

“I see. Your devotion to a greater power is commendable.”

The Prylar sighs. “Look, Garrit, I need to make something clear to you. A lot of the xenophobia Bajorans have surrounding their religion has to do with Cardassians and the occupation. There are those who aren’t necessarily happy people like me are here, but it’s mostly because they fear it’ll open a door to allow Cardassians in.”

“Are there not Cardassians who worship the Prophets already? Wryvolt prayed often in his private time.”

“There are Cardassians who worship as individuals but not as part of the laity. Some fear that if the Bajoran religion was inundated by Cardassians then that would be the end. There would be nowhere left for them to seek refuge, spiritually or otherwise. There is also the fear that the Cardassians would slowly corrupt the religion, turn it into a narrative about themselves and poison it from the inside.”

“And what do you think?”

“I see and understand their concerns. Personally however, I believe evaluation should be based on the individual. If I can come here and serve without destroying the religion with Federation atheism, then there are Cardassians who can serve without corrupting it with xenophobia and violence. But maybe that’s just my Federation-type beliefs in fairness and equality showing through.” Bashir smiles and blinks one eye closed in a quick movement while keeping the other trained on him. It’s obviously an intentional facial movement but Garak isn’t sure if its because the man has something in his eye or if there’s some social meaning he’s missing.

Bashir continues, “I should warn you, while Vedek Bareil in much more liberal in running this monastery than most, not everyone here is as open. Odo, in particular, is more of a fundamentalist than anyone else. He’s one of those who are worried about the Cardassian presence. Its kinda ironic actually. The fundamentalists are the ones most opposed to non-Bajorans and yet, there’s been consideration in the assembly of allowing Odo to become a Ranjen under the guidance of Vedek Winn. She’s one of their top dogs there.”

Bashir shakes his head, “But enough about me and Odo and internal politics. I’m sorry. You came here for help and you were willing to risk a lot to do it and here I am blabbering away.”

“I don’t mind. It’s good to get an understanding of how my presence here might be construed.”

Really, it was truly amazing how much this man could speak without noticing. But now came the hard part. Garak would have to take helm of the conversation and convince Bashir he was sincere. Prove himself to the man as an ‘individual’ Cardassian as it were.

“So, what’s been troubling you?”

“You must understand this is difficult for me to voice and find words to. A Cardassian is taught to internalize misgivings. But I- I’ve begun to doubt.” 

“That’s a good start. It’s okay if this is all a bit awkward and difficult for you. You’ll find the words eventually. Just keep talking till you get there.”

“The state, she is a beautiful thing. But there are those that take advantage of her. They poison her and eat away like cancerous tumors.”

“Who’s taking advantage?”

“There are individuals in power. I fear they don’t do what is best for the motherland but for themselves.”

“That’s unfortunately a bit of a common problem in government.”

“Maybe for your people, but this is Cardassia! She is strong and wise and our loyalty is bred into us. But she has become so corrupted and to even begin asking these questions shames me! I pretend to be indifferent. I follow my orders and try to believe that we all do our all for the state and that our orders serve the body. But I am a dishonest man. Good citizens do not question their betters. And here I am, a malignant miscreant in the midst of their purity….I’m sorry. That all probably didn’t make much sense.”

“No, no, I think I understand. You want to do your best for your country but you don’t think those in charge want the same and you feel ashamed to doubt them because you regard that as being similar to doubting the state. But what makes you think you’re so alone in that? Obviously you knew Wryvolt questioned the system.”

“Let me make one thing clear. I do not question Cardassia. I question those leading it. And Wryvolt had own degenerate ideas. The man saw our devotion to the state as a quasi-religion and proclaimed it a false god. He went looking for somewhere else to pledge himself and found here. We only started talking because a mistake I made. There are times I wish I never met him. Before we spoke, I was barely a skeptic but he fed into what he saw in me and turned my apprehensions into a cancer.”

“You seem to feel very strongly about this.”

“If you were capable of a love as strong as that between a Cardassian citizen and his government, you would understand.”

“I’d like to think I have a similar bond with the Prophets. But we’re getting off topic. How do you know if you and Wryvolt are the only ones with questions?”

“We aren’t. I know this for a fact. But those with these sorts of thoughts are given a public trial and execution on Cardassia. Maybe there are others near me who feel the same but its not safe to find out.” 

Garak gives a bitter laugh. “Do you know what the best part is? Even now, after going through so much trouble to get here, a part of me insists I’m just an arrogant fool who thinks he knows more than his elders and his betters. Perhaps I should not have come.”

“I don’t think you’re arrogant, Garrit. I think it takes a lot of humility to admit these things to yourself and seek out help. It’s a starting place for healing.”

“And just what do you think we’ll be healing, Prylar?”

Bashir never gets to answer. A shame. Garak thinks that no matter what the Human’s answer, he could’ve found a way to turn the conversation into a good argument. He could use the relaxing back and forth. Having to speak so much, try to convince this man of his intentions while staying within believable realms for a Cardassian isn’t easy. But he knows it's just practice for the real convincing he’ll need to do when he meets the Vedek.

Odo slides the door panel open. Two plain clothes Bajorans are at his side, giving Garak a glare. 

Bashir stands and Garak follows. “It's been a pleasure meeting you today, Garrit. A new face in the monastery is always a source of joy.”

“I assure you the pleasure is all mine.” Garak reaches out a hand and the Prylar receives it in a Human handshake. Garak nods once as he releases the man and goes to exit the room.

“Follow me,” the shapeshifter grumbles. 

As Garak steps out the Bajorans flank him on either side. He is led through the building to a small bedroom, painted that same peach, and notified that he’ll always have a couple of ‘guest escorts’ standing outside should he need anything and then is left on his own. 

He sleeps in his usual light manner that night.

* * *

As it turns out, the Vedek is ready to see him the very next evening. He’s led into a large chamber where a Bajoran man is lighting candles inside. He turns as they enter.

“Ah! You must be the Mr Garrit I’ve heard so much about. You’ve certainly left an impression on Prylar Bashir.”

“Not a bad one I should hope.”

“Not at all. He was very enthused at meeting a Cardassian and having such a willing listener.”

“Yes, he certainly has a way with words.”

Bareil laughs. “Please, take a seat. I hope the incense isn’t too strong for you. I know your noses can be more sensitive than ours. I’ve asked them to stop lighting them and to avoid scented candles till you leave.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” He took a reflexive sniff of the air. There was still a lingering scent certainly, but nowhere near as strong as it was yesterday.

The Vedek pulls out a chair from a table along the wall and motions for him to sit before doing the same. He begins, “I believe I may have gotten ahead of myself before. I am Vedek Bareil.”

“A pleasure,” Garak nods curtly. He had figured as much.  
  
“So, what brings you here to our little monastery?”

Garak recounts the same tale of doubt and shame he had told Bashir, though in a perhaps slightly less flourished version. The Vedek isn’t as much of a wide eyed and active listener as the Prylar. Instead Bareil nods along and asks the occasional question to move the topic along but does not speak much more.

Pulling information from Bashir was like ladelling soup into a bowl. Attempting to do the same with Bareil is more akin to ladelling packed ground, do-able over time but a tiresome task nonetheless. No, this would not do. 

Garak pauses midway through explaining a Cardassian’s duty to the state and interrupts himself. “I’m sorry, Vedek. You are an honorable man and trying to help but I fear I may have wasted your time. ”

“Well, I am sorry you feel that way. Might I ask why?”

“You must understand, this is all very difficult for me. Just being here, I’m going against everything I’ve been taught. I find it hard to open up to you.”

“I’ve noticed. Everything you’ve told me so far has been almost exactly what you told Prylar Bashir.”

“I would’ve thought that discussing private consultations would be against your order’s beliefs.”

“Prylar Bashir wasn’t meant to meet with you yesterday that way. He has been reprimanded for overstepping his duties. There’s also been a lot of worry and fear stirred up around the monastery. It’s my job to make sure we’re safe first and foremost.”

“I understand. But you mustn't be too hard on the boy. He was only trying to help, I’m sure.”

Bareil sighs. “I accept that baring yourself to a Bajoran must be troublesome to you emotionally. It is for many Cardassians and prejudice is a process to unlearn. If you find it easier to speak to a Human for now, I accept that.”

“...Are you saying you’ll allow Bashir to consul me?”

“He won’t be able to guide you as fully as a someone of higher duty. He can’t mentor you in our religion, though I don’t expect that to be a problem for you for now. He also can’t give you direct advice. He can only try to guide you in finding the answers in yourself. Are you able to accept that?”

“Yes, I would find that acceptable.”

Garak is given dinner and another night’s stay before he is escorted off the premises early the next morning by Odo and different pair of Bajorans. A phrase is given to him for when he comes next. Kernat. He wonders if Bashir had some hand in the word’s conception. They clearly don’t trust him enough to give him a way to contact them yet. That’s okay. In time they will.

* * *

Garak resumes his work with Glinn Toran. His first week as a guest of the Order, the Glinn had prayed to the Prophets to save him. But his gods had remained tucked away in their Celestial Temple. After an impressive nine days in, the man broke. Since then, he had been most insightful on the growing Cardassian religious movement. 

It had been centuries since the state had abolished all religion. After all, giving offerings to non existent Gods was sacrilegious when the state lived and breathed in front of you, ever hungry. 

Once Bajor was given the opportunity to serve the Union, they too were commanded to bow before the living deity. But the Bajorans had proven tricky. It was an open secret that most still practiced their strange worship. And for several decades, it had been allowed. Overt displays of religion were quickly quashed of course. But because such a majority of the population regularly broke the law, it gave an easy excuse to the Cardassian government when they needed to arrest or execute a Bajoran. 

But prolonged exposure to these deeply spiritual people was beginning to poison the minds of once pure and devout Cardassians. There were those stationed on Bajor who were beginning to take up their ways. Sources spoke of Cardassians praying and giving thanks to the Prophets, following their teachings, learning the prophecies, and celebrating Bajoran holidays. There were even cases of radicalization through the theists into covert and open displays of rebellion against the State. And to take the issue further, small cults inspired by these people were popping up within the Union itself, worshipping the old Hebetian gods.

Culling Bajorans and keeping control of their backwater planet was not the Obsidian Order’s job. But Dukat and the rest of the military fools in charge were incompetent and the situation had now escalated into influencing the minds of the Cardassian populace. And controlling that influence was the Order’s job.

And so here Garak is now. Chasing after rebels and attempting to figure out just how far this vein of Cardassian dissidents led back to the Prophets.

The Glinn, unfortunately, cannot tell Garak much about the extent that other Cardassians worshipped. He was a solitary follower as, based on Bashir’s claims, seemed the typical case.

Toran claims to not know much about Odo and Bashir either. He had spent his time mostly with Bareil, one of the few Bajoran religious leaders who truly welcomed Cardassians with open arms. The Glinn had seen Odo around and shared words on occasion but not much more. With Bashir, he had sometimes worked on the garden. It seemed conversation had been mostly one sided between them with the Prylar splurging information about everything and anything and the Glinn tuning him out and nodding along while they dug in the dirt.

Garak researches them both. Odo, of course, has a multitude of hits, mostly in scientific journals. He does learn however, that about five years prior, the creature had won his right to sentience and the freedoms of a lower-class species before the eyes of the Cardassian government. Not having any skills or knowledge to take on most jobs, he had taken the eye of Gul Hadar who brought him around to parties for a time. (And Hadar, Garak knew, went to a LOT of parties.) After almost a year of journalistic recounts of Odo stealing the show at events, nothing else had been heard of him. He quietly disappeared.

The Human is another story. Neither Bajoran or Cardassian information banks turn up anything on anyone named Julian Bashir. (Assuming, of course, that its not an assumed name.) Written descriptions return a few Bajorans in the search results but a cursory glance tells Garak they are not the man he’s looking for. And so to the Federation databases he goes. Here he finds many Julian Bashirs. He sorts them based on age range and description but this still leaves hundreds of files. Sorting takes some time but eventually he finds what he’s looking for. 

One single, confusing document. Not a single identity file matches his Human. The only record of this man is an old warrant for arrest from nine years back, listing a Julian Bashir who was categorized as highly dangerous. The image provided beheld the a younger, pockmarked version of the Prylar’s face.

He tries digging deeper into the warrant and found strangely nothing. The Federation was known for their love of accurate records and keeping well more than was necessary open for public viewing but here there was nothing. No charges, no court proceedings, no birth records, no school records. Outside of the Federation wanting this boy captured, he didn’t exist.

Besides that, there are no records of his presence in Cardassian or Bajoran space. Which indicates he certainly entered illegally. What would possess a Human who didn’t officially exist to attempt to cross a heavily fortified territory border only to join a relatively unknown religious order that just tolerated him. It doesn’t make sense. 

Clearly, something was going on here. Some secret being hidden. And Garak’s specialty was finding them out.

* * *

Garak waits a full nineteen days before making his way back to the monastery. It wouldn’t do to seem overeager after his show from last time and besides, he and the Glinn have been having some very intriguing conversations. Following the same route as before, he found no handsome Prylars bent over the dirt. Instead, he is stopped by Odo barely past the arboretum border.

The man peels away from a tree with a frown to greet him. The sight is unnerving.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“‘Ah! I am Mister Garrit. I believe we met just a few weeks back! I’m sorry I forget not many species have such precise memory as us Cardassians. I’m here to meet with Prylar Bashir. I was given a codeword.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Kernat.”

The being squints at him and somehow frowns further. Perhaps a benefit of being a liquid. “I don’t know what you Cardassians think you gain from coming here and disrupting the peace. The Prophets aren’t for you. They came to the Bajorans. The Vedek may be friendly to your type, but I don’t want anymore of you coming around.” Odo paused for dramatic effect and then enunciated very carefully, “Do you understand?”

“Certainly! You must know I mean no harm.”

“Yes, and that’s what your kind said sixty years ago.” The shifter starts walking quickly in the direction of the main building and Garak hurries to follow him. 

He is shown into the same room that he and Bashir had originally spoken in and takes a seat on the bench. Odo tells him to stay put and then leaves, putting a Bajoran in charge of the door. Garak tries to ignore the renewed aroma of incense in the air. Eventually, Bashir comes in, covered in dirt as before.

“Garrit! How have you been?”

“I have been adequate, though I find my day improving now that you’re here. And yourself?”

The Prylar blushes a little and gives him a grin, taking the chair across from him. “I’m doing quite fine myself. Tell me, what’s on your mind today?”

“Well before we begin, I would like to apologize. I hadn’t intended to be away for quite so long but I’ve been busy with my work.” And Garak had. Between sorting through the Bashir files while juggling other surveillance projects and retrieving information from Toran, he had been called upon to interrogate two captured Bajoran resistance leaders. This caused him no end of frustration. He had other work to do and frankly, it wasn’t his job.

“What do you do for work?”

“I’m a file clerk in at the military post in town.” 

“Are you satisfied with your work?” Garak gives him a questioning look. “Does it give you a sense of direction or purpose in life? Your career in the military or your current posting.

Garak furrows his brow ridge. “My time in the military has given me purpose, yes. As we are all given purpose by where we are born into in life. If I had been born to a housekeeper, I would have no different sense of purpose. Prylar, I’m not sure I understand your question.”

“Okay, I think there’s a case of cultural differences here. Let me think how to ask something similar. If you were given the chance to change your circumstances and be born into a different social class, would you take it?”

“I don’t see a point in speculation. I suppose, if I could, I would prefer to have been serving class. I know that must sound ridiculous. One is meant to strive for higher things, within the limits of their duty of course, but I enjoy the simple things in life. To be a gardener or a cook or a tailor would be to serve the state and to be free of misgivings. Everything would be so much easier then.”

“Easier doesn’t always mean you take as much satisfaction out of life. Completing goals and reaching farther than you thought you could is very important. What difference would being born a different class make on your faith in your state?” 

“I would’ve never come to Bajor. I do believe that our presence here was once necessary and benefitted both ourselves and the Bajorans.” The Prylar gave him a look that said he clearly disagreed. “But those days are decades past. We linger here now for the greed and satisfaction of a few lazy bureaucrats and predators who love the prowl the Bajoran streets. There is needless suffering here and worse yet, our continued presence costs the state dearly. I’ve seen the numbers. And I think perhaps I’d be able to abide by their decisions and ignore these things if I didn’t find myself so bored in my work. When working with materials, real substance, there is something to show for yourself. But rearranging and calling up files does nothing. There was a time when I could find some joy in my work, but it's so empty, the thoughts eat at my head.”

“Maybe you could find another position in the army? Take on communications or engineering or become a medical assistant?” Clearly this man knows very little of Cardassian culture.

“No, requests for such a change would create a line of inquiry, especially considering I’ve worked my area so long. In most cases if adequate reasoning can be supplied, the request would be deemed legitimate and put through. But I’ve begun disappearing off base with no one to vouch for me. Most of the other men think I’ve found myself a comfort woman and I’ve allowed that theory to propagate. But if I were to suddenly appeal for a career change after seeming to be meeting with such a woman? It creates questions. And questions lure in others to answer. Surely, good Prylar, you must understand this feeling of trapped I have?”

“What do you mean?”

“I am trapped within the military in a job that bores me and filled with doubts I can never share. You’re trapped too I think, in a lowly position in a religion filled with people that don’t trust you.”

“You know rank isn’t important to me. Would I be interested in taking on more responsibility if I could? Yes, but I have plenty else to look forward to. I’m in charge of the gardens. Bareil may have official say but I’m the one who cares for it day in and day out. And besides, I have friends here.”

“Oh? I certainly haven’t seen you having anything close to a friendly conversation since I’ve been here. I think you’re making up justifications for your own complacency.” 

“What is that even supposed to mean? You’ve literally only been here twice with weeks between! You don’t know a single damn thing about my life. Just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”

“Fine, if these friends really exist, then they must have names. Give me one.”

“Vedek Bareil.”

“Vedek Bareil is your direct superior if I recall correctly. You may have a friendly relationship with him but that does not count as friendship. Try again.”

“Fine, Odo then.”

“And if I were to ask Odo would he agree? No, friendship is a mutual relationship. I’m beginning to doubt you, my dear.”

“Jesus, Garrit, what do you want me to say! Lupaza, Leeta, Furel, Kira! What does it matter? It’s not like you know any of them. I could just be saying any names! I have a place I belong and that’s all that matters.”

Garak files those names away to look up later.

“Look, Garrit, I know these are hard times for you and you’re very...emotionally turbulent right now, but trying to cause a fight with me won’t help anyone. Okay?”

The rest of their session continues slowly during which time Garak makes sure to reiterate on his points. It’s easy to push lies once they’re established and believed. 

Soon Bajor’s sun has moved a hand-length’s from the horizon and Garak knows it’s time to leave.

“Any idea when you’ll be back next?” Bashir asks him.

“I will try to return by next week’s time.”

Garak leaves with excitement hidden away carefully inside him. He has research to do and much to tell Tain.

* * *

He finds documents in the Cardassian archives for the names Bashir had provided. With the noted exception of ‘Leeta’, they were all known members of the Shakaar resistance cell. If the group was coming to the monastery often enough that Bashir would list their names as friends when pushed, it gave a pattern to their movement habits and potential hiding places. 

He contacts Tain the very next day. The Bajoran Resistance is a tricky one to crack and if they can find an opening here, it could mean the end of the movement. Tain congratulates him and sends him back to work. Garak eats up what praise he can but knows what the real message behind it is. Don’t screw this up.

The problem with Bajoran rebels is that they know their masters. The occupation had gone on long enough for them to learn the methods of control and capture Cardassians used and how to subvert them. Under torture, they spew forth practiced lies that could be corroborated by others of their kind. It becomes impossible then to tell what was real valuable information and what had been decided upon over morning meal the previous week.

As directed, Garak goes back to work. He goes to the monastery and then again a few days later. It becomes a pattern and Bashir smiles bright everytime he sees him.

No, not Bashir. Julian. The Prylar begins to insist that he use his first name. Garak knows it means very little in Human societies and only somewhat more in Bajoran. Its different among Cardassians. The use of one’s given name is a sign of extreme closeness and generally only used between immediate family or mates. 

In return, Garak insists the same. Call me Elor, he says. It's not his given name and so its use bears no familiarity to him. Still, reciprocity is important. 

If he wants Julian’s trust, he must initiate it by seeming to trust him first. He tells him many things. Some are very nearly true. Others are very not. There are anecdotes about childhood, rages over the broken government, stories of lovers lost, secrets that don’t exist. He speaks words. Julian speaks information. 

The Prylar complains several times of the weeds that have gotten out of control in the garden and eventually, Garak begins arriving several hours early to work the garden with him. They pull hundreds of kernat roots between the two of them and attempt to fill in the empty dirt patches with moss and a natural grass cover. 

During these hours, Julian chats away and Garak nods along. At first, it is annoying. There’s no peaceful quiet and the sheer amount of infodump is a tremendous strain to sort through mentally for useful bits. But over time, he comes to appreciate the sound of the Human’s voice as a background to the otherwise quiet mornings. He learns things that are overtly useful, such as the history of the Bajoran religion, and things which are less useful, like Julian’s once disastrous attempt at bleaching his hair.

Trust for these people, Garak learns, is intertwined intimately with fondness. From his own experience, one doesn’t need to like another to trust them and that you favor one’s good company bears little on the dangers they might pose. But it seems Julian cannot separate the two concepts. 

The more they talk, the more open and friendly Julian becomes. He brings food along to some of their visits and they talk while they eat. Eventually, they start discussing books and discover a shared love of literature. And so lunch and book club becomes yet another habit. The pattern becomes comfortable and eventually, he doesn’t even smell the thick incense in the air. 

Several months pass this way and then the Days of Atonement are upon them. The number of Bajorans visiting the monastery begins to increase as well as the frequency of vigils, prayer sessions and masses held. 

The glares and suspicious looks from the extra company doesn’t deter Garak. He knows they’ve all been forewarned of his presence. There’s a nagging suspicion that his body might be buried between those ferns Julian so lovingly tends to otherwise. 

Despite his indifference, the frequency of his visits is forced to decline anyways. Julian is swamped with an increased workload and no longer has as much time for him or the garden. Garak notices on the fewer visits he makes that the weeds have begun to regain their foothold in the planting beds. 

There is an answer for this, one Garak had been avoiding. He needs all the excuses he can to spend more time with Julian, both for professional and personal reasons. That answer however, is one he now takes. The Prylar will be likely very grateful and frankly, Garak has no intention of having to fight the plants all over again. Perhaps the gift will help cement their relationship.

As the Days are nearing their end, Garak brings with him a clear plastic container filled with nutrition supplement and several hundred juvenile beetles. The onyx beetle is a natural predator on Cardassia to the kernat weed, feeding exclusively on the roots of plants within its family. If there was one thing, Garak had learned from Romulus, it was that sometimes the answer to a foreign pest was to introduce another foreign element into the environment. 

He brings the container with him as he enters the building. Bashir has no time for morning gardening with him today but they still plan to debate over lunch. So far, their talk has mostly been about Cardassian books. Sometimes Julian will bring a short story or a poem for him to read during meal but Garak cannot justify returning to town with unsanctioned reading material. 

Their most recent novel is Monetak’s Material Gains of a Domestic Regnar. While not a children’s book, it’s a relatively light read and required reading for school-children on Cardassia. The story metaphorically details the benefits gained by worlds occupied by the Union and most importantly, the benefits for the Union itself. He thinks the Prylar could learn a few things from the story but knows by now that Julian will find the entirely wrong message out of it and refuse to see reason. Still, it gives Garak a good reason to argue with the man.

A brief moment of panic overwhelms him and Garak fights his impulses to attack back as he is suddenly slammed against a wall and held there with an arm against his throat by an unknown Bajoran woman.

“I don’t know what it is you think you’re doing here, but you listen to me. I’ve heard about you. I’ve heard you’ve been spending an awful lot of time around Prylar Bashir. If you hurt him, if I even have any reason to suspect you’ve hurt him or anyone else here, I swear to you that I will have you begging the Prophets for mercy and you know what? They won’t come.”

Garak sees her face clearly now and matches one of the images from the many files he has collected to it in his mind. This is Kira Nerys from Shakaar’s group. Interesting.

Garak begs, “Please, ma’am! If I had any intention of doing anyone harm, would I have not done so already? I swear to the Prophets above I am only here for self-improvement, the same reason as anyone else.” 

“Yeah, you see that’s the only thing you do.” Kira releases him. “You go to your confessional and play nice and remember our conversation.” She stalks off, leaving him slightly stunned in the corridor. 

Garak kneels to where he dropped the beetle container. The side is cracked but not enough so that any of the insects appear to have been able to escape. Good. Garak did not think it would help his reputation much if he inadvertently released a colony of beetles inside the building.

He makes his way to the usual room and takes a seat on the bench. Julian isn’t there yet which isn’t uncommon with his schedule recently. 

Eventually the Prylar comes in, a tray with soup bowls on hand. The Human stumbles through an apology which Garak takes with a smile and a nod. He sets the bowls down and joins Garak on the bench. 

Garak begins not with the book.

“I met a very interesting woman today.”

“Oh?”

“Here I come, minding my own business, and she attacks me and insinuates that I would ever do anything to hurt you. A preposterous and quite frankly, rude accusation.”

“Was this woman Bajoran with red hair?”

“Yes, I believe she was.”

Julian sighes. “Well, that’d be Kira. She’s a good person and a great friend once you get to know her. She just gets a bit overprotective sometimes. She grew up in a refugee camp so she has a well-earned distrust of Cardassians. It’s kept her alive.”

“Well, I cannot begrudge her her survival. But, please, let your friends know that I am only here for the good food and the good company.”

“Oh, I’m good company?”

“You think too highly of yourself. I never said it was you I came for.”

“And who is it that’s swept you off your feet then?”

“Why, Prylar Odo of course! We have many clandestine rendezvous, you see.”

“Star-crossed lovers are you?”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the term.”

“Remind me to have you read Romeo and Juliet sometime.”

“Here, I’ve brought you something.” Garak sets the beetle container on the table.

“I was wondering when you were going to show me what you had there. A snack for your trip back?” Julian teases.

“Those rumors are entirely unsubstantiated. Just because some small reptilians eat insects doesn’t mean we all do. As you well know, our diet is mostly plant-based. Do you walk around with your mouth open to catch swarms of crustaceans like those ocean mammals?”  
  
“No, I can’t say I’ve tried that. But perhaps I will. Get some extra protein. What are those for though actually?”

“A solution to our kernat problem. These beetles come from Cardassia IV and feed on the roots of plants in the kernat family. Releasing them in the garden should help us regain control of the weeds.”

“They won’t affect any of the natural wildlife?”

“They’re in wide use among some of the upper ranks who have country homes on this planet and I’ve never heard of any trouble. In fact they’re so popular, I’ve been on a two month waitlist for them to become available.”

This is a lie. Garak had ordered them after his last visit eight days ago after finally growing tired of seeing the sorry state of the garden.

Julian gives Garak a soft look. “Thanks, Elor. This’ll really help. Unless...unless of course you’re looking for an excuse to get away from me?” Julian had long caught onto Garak’s game of back and forth and encouraged it, though he still didn’t seem to understand its significance to Cardassians.

“My dear, I would spend every day with you if I could.” Its an admission, one Garak finds is too close to the truth. 

Julian blushes and bumps shoulders playfully as he scoots a bowl Garak’s way. “Eat up, you.”

Garak takes the bowl, brushing the tips of his fingers with Julian’s. “It would be my pleasure.”

They begin discussion of Material Gains as they eat and as expected, Julian has some rather uncouth thoughts on the matter.

“Yes, but the regnar’s habitat is destroyed for that farmland. I don’t care if it was well cared for or not by the Bilyak family. It was taken from its home and its colony was destroyed, with all of them either killed or made into pets. Its mate was hunted by the son and fed to the family for the solstice celebration!”

“Yes but that land was desert previously. The revitalization of it helped feed the family and brought more food to the city the village served. And the regnars did not suffer. They were killed mercifully and their remains unwasted or were given a luxurious life, free from the hardships of surviving in the wild.”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t tragic and that no one suffered. I’m not stupid, Elor. This is obviously a propaganda piece in favor of the occupation of Bajor and other planets like it.”

“It’s only propaganda based on one’s priorities. When one realizes that the good of the state is the good of all, it becomes a very compelling and poetic tale.”

“Only if you’re one of the Bilyaks.” 

It was time to raise the stakes on this conversation. Garak had information to find and he had waited long enough on this particular detail.

“You know, I do envy Bajorans. It is easy to play the oppressed and live without the burden of responsibility.”

Bashir opened and closed his mouth a few times and looked at his face searchingly, clearly unsure where to go with this. Good. Garak needed to shock and grab a firm grasp of this conversation to lead it where he wanted it to. 

“I’m sure the Bajorans would disagree,” he finally settles on. “As I would too.”

“Ah but you see, they have the luxury of being blameless. If they find themselves unsatisfied in life, who to blame? The Cardassians! If their medicines and technologies are inferior, who must be at fault? The Cardassians! We don’t have that luxury. If tragedy befalls us, we must take our own selves at consequence.”

“Maybe...but if famine befalls Cardassia, who suffers so that you may eat?”

Garak laughs. “Bajor hardly supplies the Union’s food stock. There are some spices they produce which are rather popular on Prime and a few exotic vegetables but most of their agriculture product remains within the system.”

“Feeding the Cardassians occupying it.”

“They are one of a number of benefactors, yes. But Bajor’s true use to the Union is in mining. The Bajoran planets II to V have a very unique composition of minerals.”

“Elor, we’re not discussing Bajoran exports. You said you think it’s harder to be a Cardassian in the occupation than a Bajoran. We need to talk about that.”

“Ah, but you twist my words. I said they have a personal luxury in being able to retain a pure vision of themselves while having no obligation towards their faults.”

“The Bajorans don’t retain a ‘clean vision’ of themselves though. They see only horror and despair all around them. And don’t act like not having a choice in life is some sort of freedom. Without the ability to choose your life, find yourself, to make mistakes, you never get the chance to learn and grow. You stagnate. And that tired, stagnated self that the Bajorans have to wake up and see everyday is Cardassia’s fault. Garrit. What’s gotten into you today?”

“I suppose Miss Kira’s assault has gotten me a bit riled up. I’m sorry. I promise, I’m trying to grow.”

“I know, Elor. I know.

“Julian, if may be so bold, you speak of stagnation and a need for growth. But you deny that for yourself. You may have friends here but a man like you could find friends anywhere he wanted. Why do you stay here? Why is a Human on Bajor in the middle of an occupation he obviously hates?”

Julian sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Garak is tempted to ask if he has a headache. “Look, I’m going to trust you with something that I haven’t told a lot of people. You’ve been respectful about keeping the questions to yourself so far and you’ve been a good friend. You’ve trusted me and told me some damning secrets and this is putting out a lot of trust in you, but…..have you ever heard of Khan Noonien Singh?”

“No.” And for once Garak is totally honest.

“He was a Human that lived a few hundred years ago. Earth had a series of wars. Really, really bad wars. It’s a miracle that we’ve rebounded so far or even that we got off the planet again after them. Khan was genetically altered and enhanced far past normal human limits. Changes to human DNA is very variable and hard to predict so most augmented individuals develop various issues that inhibit normal functioning. Some, like Khan, become power hungry tyrants. He and people like him were some of the main instigators of the Eugenics Wars. 

“As a result, augments are banned within the Federation. To augment someone is a crime and those who are augmented are usually sent away to institutions for both public safety and your own.

“When I was young, I was...different. Slow, small for my age. I had trouble learning. My parents, they decided that the only way to help me and that I could be happy in life was if they tried to fix me. And so, they took me Adigeon Prime and had me altered. Their son ceased to be and I was created in his place. They never told me. 

“When I was fifteen, I decided I wanted to join Starfleet. I didn’t tell my parents because I wanted it to be a surprise. They were always pushing me to achieve more and higher and what is there higher than Starfleet?”

Garak could think of many things better than Starfleet.

“But when I took the test...I aced it. In every possible way. Higher than any normal Human could ever hope to achieve. I was so proud but when I came home to tell my parents, my mother was crying. An investigation on me had been opened. They told me what they had done and I knew that augments were bad and that I would be in trouble and I just...became very scared. 

“I ran away that night. I ran and ran from ship to ship and eventually I came up with a plan to get to the Ferengi alliance where no one would care so long as I could make them money. In retrospect of course, that was stupid. Putting myself out there like that, I would’ve been found right away and dragged back but thankfully, my plans changed. I ended up on a stop over on Bajor. And while searching for my next ship, I met Bareil and well, that was just over eight years ago now.”

Julian ends his rambling tale and looks to Garak for a response. Garak lets out a dry laugh. “My dear, I’ve accused the Federation of many things but sheer stupidity is not one I had not thought need of. Maybe human augmentation is unstable, I wouldn’t know. But clearly you’re an unaffected specimen. They’ve wasted some very clear potential.”

“They’re afraid. And fear can run wild unchecked. Their thinking, I think, is that I could be the ultimate manipulator. Some level of psychopath so good at hiding my true intent that I manage to circumvent the system and get to the top to cause havoc. That’s why all augments are sent away.”

“Truly, such a thing could be accused of anyone.”

“I know. But fear makes people paranoid.”

Their conversation drifts off to other topics. Before Garak leaves for the night, he and Julian scatter the insects throughout the arboretum. It’s perhaps slightly later than he should be going if he doesn’t want to deal with hiking in the dark. Still he doesn’t regret. Time spent with Prylar Bashir is always time well spent.

* * *

Tain is intrigued by the new information. Garak gets the impression that cogs are beginning to move behind the scenes, oiled by the intelligence he feeds. It distresses him not to know the greater picture of what’s going on but it’s much more difficult to get information about what’s happening on Cardassia undetected while on Bajor.

His job for now is to embroil himself deeper in the fray and play his part.

After his confrontation with Kira, Garak is sure the resistance is keeping tabs on him. It's just as well that his cover matches his needs. He lives in a military installation and, according to all files and his own movements, works in the Records Department. Once in the Records basement however, he has a small office that he works from. 

He spends most days hacking Romulan and Federation and Klingon systems, pulling electronic information and supporting the operations of other agents in the field. It’s tedious work mostly. And ever since Wryvolt had ceased giving them anything useful and had to be put down, he lives for his meetings at the monastery.

On his days to the valley, Garak rises well before the sun and warms his blood beneath a heat lamp before eating a small meal and heading on his way. It is six days after learning Julian’s secret before Garak performs this morning ritual and heads out into the forest again.

He finds the Human planting an indigenous species of vine between the trees. He helps him imbed the remaining plants and then heads with Julian to collect supplies for the retaining wall the Prylar plans to begin building tomorrow. Along the way, Julian chatters on about how the western slope has been beginning to slide ever since the early summer storms and about the hasperat he hopes they’ll have once the new vines flower and then later produce the peppers needed for flavouring. 

Garak nods along. As a Cardassian, he lacks the ability to taste capsaicin which gives foods the so called spicy flavour that mammals seem to masochize themselves over. As a rule though, they don’t give this information out. It seems to impress others when a Cardassian can drink an entire glass of veerzruul juice without a cough. 

After they’ve completed their work outside for the day, they head inside for lunch. The Atonement Days are freshly ended and the plethora of Bajorans that have plagued the building the last few weeks are freshly gone. It’s a nice change to have a mostly empty building. Along the way to their usual room, they cross Odo in the halls who scowls and watches the pair with suspicious eyes.

They chat over lunch and discuss the book du jour. Eventually the meal ends and Garak is left with yet another difficult conversation. He doesn’t like having to pair two polarizing discussions so close but Tain has given an order and he needs to embed himself deeper into the monastery.

“So, anything pressing on your mind today?” Julian begins.

“I struck a Bajoran,” Garak states bluntly. “He spat at me and...I don’t know why. I was overcome with anger. Or maybe frustration. I don’t know. I’m not a violent man. But I hit him across the face hard enough that he bled.” This was a lie. The Bajoran had not bled and Garak had felt no anger. It was just business, boring and dull, as most interrogations of Bajorans were for him. The man had needed something to keep his attention and a slap served the purpose.

“I see,” Bashir says. Perhaps Garak had misjudged. He had used a negative shock factor in his last session to get information. Now he was using yet another aggressive tactic. Next time he would need to keep his stories light-hearted lest he make the Prylar weary of him. 

Julian continues. “Anger and frustration stem from different things. Which one do you think it was?”

“I-I don’t know. I hit him and it felt good. It felt powerful. And I felt embarrassed, shamed, like I was losing control. Like a child does lashing out.”

“Do those feelings come to you often?”

“More and more often. I feel confused mostly. I’m trapped between my duty to the state, my own beliefs and fears, and the dissidence between those. It’s like I’m an animal trapped and the only time I ever feel any peace from it is here with you when I can just let it go. Sometimes I wish I could stay here forever.”

Julian is awkward in his answer. “I...don’t think that would be possible. This is a place for worship, only monks live here, and most Bajorans just wouldn’t feel comfortable coming here if-”

Garak waved him off. “I know. It’s a silly thing. I have been thinking though...I would like to learn more about the Prophets. The Bajorans cling to them so strongly despite everything, I wonder if there might be something to that. If there might be some solace there.”

“You want to learn about the Prophets?” Bashir seemed surprised.

“The more time passes and the more I think about it, the more I think Wryvolt was maybe right….about some things at least. If policy has changed on teaching Cardassians, I would understand of course.”

“No, they haven’t. It would be counterproductive, I think, to deny the Prophet’s teachings to Cardassians. Our religion is all about charity, humility, and faith. And I think your people could use those things right about now.”

Garak nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”

“How would you like to learn? Normally I might send material back with an interested party but I don’t think that’s a wise idea here. I could talk to Bareil and see what he thinks.”

“I think I would like that.” 

* * *

Bashir is, as always, in the arboretum again on his next visit. It's late summer on this part of Bajor and the wildlife is flourishing. Unfortunately for Bashir that applies to both his carefully cultivated plants and the unwanted fleurs du mals. The beetles have helped significantly but it’s still too soon and the population too small to take care of the entire problem. Garak spends several hours by his side, carefully picking out sprouts as they try to take hold in the soil. 

They speak of little things. Today’s goal is to retain trust and friendship. He doesn’t have any particular information to find or topic to address. Eventually, they move their conversation inside. The light-hearted teasing back and forth and the mood it creates follows them into the chamber. 

“It Decays Beneath Desert Spires? I haven’t heard of that one,” Julian says over an argendi sandwich and milaberry biscuits. Garak isn’t surprised. Julian hasn’t heard of most of the literature he gives him.

“It’s an older novel and one available only to those willing to resort to somewhat unscrupulous means.”

“What, are you saying its been out of print for a long time and there’s not many copies left or saying that its illegal?”

“The state does not promote its reading.”

“Well, Elor, I had no idea you had such a mischievous side,” Julian teases. “Doubting the abilities of Gul Dukat is one thing, but going out of your way to read banned books for fun? Rather naughty of you.”

“Well, it's not an easy task, I assure you.”

“Oh?”

“Such things usually require a notable amount of financial lubrication to come by.”

“I didn’t think a Glinn earned that high of a stipend.”

“We don’t. However, I have been known to save more of my earnings than is proper.”

“I don’t follow.”

“A government requires a certain amount of funds to run. However, I find that the amount they ask sometimes requires more from me than I am comfortable giving.”

“You...commit tax fraud?” Julian laughs, “All this talk of loyalty to the state. Garrit, I’m surprised!”

“It’s not something I’m proud of. However, those in charge of managing the funds given to our state have a habit of rerouting them for their own purposes. As long as they’re allowed to be in power, I see no harm in doing the same. I simply reroute prior to theirs.”

Julian seems to find this hilarious. Good. “Anything else you splurge this ‘rerouted income’ on?”

“Well, I do enjoy a good meal. And I admittedly do have a bit of a sweet tooth. Delavian chocolates are a weakness of mine. I find myself buying them when I perhaps should be spending my hard earned credits elsewhere.”

“I’ve never had Delavian chocolates before. ”

“I shall bring some then on my next visit. I cannot imagine going through life devoid of such a basic facet of happiness.”

Julian chuckles. “Well then, if you like sweets perhaps you might enjoy a jumja stick?”

“A jumja stick?”

“Its kinda a sweet hard candy on a stick. A bit like a lollipop.‘

“I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t know what a lollipop is either.”

“Next time maybe we can have a cultural exchange then. I’ll bring some foods I think you should try and you can bring things you’d like me to try.”

“I would enjoy that.”

There is a pause as they switch topics. “I spoke to Vedek Bareil. He’s agreed to guide you in a more spiritual journey. We can still talk, to help you settle your Pagh if you’d like. But for all things Prophets, Bareil will guide you.”

“I understand.” Garak had hoped as much. 

Truthfully, there isn’t much more Garak believes can be gained out of Bashir. The man had served his purpose and Garak had wrung him dry. The Vedek would be privy to much more detailed information and he now has reason to get the Vedek to speak to him rather than him speaking to the Vedek.

Julian had explained his being here, had revealed with certainty the presence of resistance activity, helped him gain the trust of the Vedek, and given him an opening to a more parasitic relationship with Bareil. Still, Garak is reluctant to give up his meetings with the Prylar. His only worship may be to the state but beyond that he is a selfish man. 

“And I would like to continue our meetings together.”

Julian smiles. “Good, I enjoy them.” He stands up. “Come on, we better find the Vedek before afternoon prayer. You’ll have to start setting up regular times to meet. Bareil has a much stricter schedule to stick to.”

“Of course.”

They find Vedek Bareil and set up a meeting for Garak in seven days. He leaves that evening feeling some sort of finality has begun to take root.

* * *

Garak returns as promised, a bag full of goodies slung over one shoulder. Julian waits for him outside the monastery. It takes a second for him to fully process the Prylar. He isn’t wearing his normal robes, filthy from working in the outdoors. Instead he has a pair of fitted trousers and a shirt with an asymmetrical neckline, baring half of his collar bone. He might have something to say about the color combination but overall, it’s a good look. 

They find their way to the peach room as usual and take their respective seats on the bench. Set out on the table already is an assortment of foreign-looking treats. Garak sets his own stock out: delavian chocolates, larish pie, and a container of veerzruul.

They have only a couple hours before he is to meet with the Vedek. 

“What are these?” Garak points to a plate with filled with patties that looked as if they had been formed from some sort of shredded vegetables.

“Groatcakes. They’re good with syrup of squill. Here.” 

Julian fills plates for them both with the assortment of foods they’ve brought. It’s something closer to dessert for lunch that they’re eating by the looks of things but Garak finds he doesn’t mind. Splurging every once in a while won’t kill him.

While Julian fills plates, Garak fills a couple glasses with veerzruul. Perhaps it’s sadistic of him but Garak does enjoy the reactions poor unaware souls. He takes a sip himself and then cuts into the groatcake. It’s rather dry and has a vaguely sickly sweet taste. The Cardassian can’t imagine pairing the sweetness with the heavy sugar from squill but he can understand the need for something to help it slide down. He gulps his drink as he swallows the cake.

“You sure you don’t want syrup with that?”

“No, thank you. The cake is already rather sweet.”

Julian shrugs digging into his own swamped patty. “Suit yourself.” 

He munches happily and takes a sip from his own glass and immediately spits it out. “What the hell! What’s in there? It burns, oh my god. I need water!” Julian’s face is a blotchy red and tears and watery snot are beginning to stream. The man gets up and runs out of the room. 

It’s a more extreme reaction than Garak had expected but a satisfying one nonetheless. A few minutes later Julian comes back in, face cleaned off (and still a bit red) and carrying a large pitcher of water.

“What the hell did you give me?”

“A common social beverage, dear Prylar. I assure you. I had no idea it would affect you that way! We Cardassians have never had such a reaction.”

“Well, I think I’m sticking to water for now.” Julian pours himself a glass and takes a sip before saying, “I don’t believe you, you know. I know reptiles and birds aren’t affected by spicy foods and you were way too calm for the situation. If you truly weren’t expecting anything to happen, you would’ve been at least a little concerned. I could’ve been having an allergic reaction and died.”

“Very astute. I do applaud you, Prylar. I will admit, its an old joke we play on the unwitting.”

“Yeah, and it’s a cruel one. You really do have a long way to go.” Julian shakes his head. “I don’t understand you. You’re confused and hurt so you come here. We accept you with open arms and try our best to help you but sometimes, its like you resent being here and resent us for helping you. You’re always trying to pick a fight and sometimes, yeah, it’s more of a fun back and forth but sometimes, you just say things and I have to wonder why? If you hate this place so much and you don’t respect us or our religion, why do you keep coming back?”

“I think that may be another area in which our cultures diverge, my dear.”

“Yeah, how so?”

“A Cardassian doesn’t stir up a verbal fight out of malevolence. For us, argument and debate are much more intimate gestures.” This wasn’t generally true to the extent of some of the fights he had put Julian through, but it’s not like the Prylar would know the difference.

“Intimate meaning…?”

“I find myself very fond of you, Prylar. Perhaps more than is wise.”

“Oh.” Its quiet for a few seconds. “I might be a little more fond of you than I should be too.”

Julian reaches a hand out and sets it on Garak’s. “What do we do now?”

“What would you like to do?”

“Well....I think I would very much like to kiss you. Have you ever kissed a Human before?”

“I think you know the answer to that, my dear. Perhaps you might be inclined to show me?”

The Prylar puts his other hand on Garak’s cheek and begins to lean in. And then their lips are touching. It’s an odd feeling and different from anything Garak has done before. Not bad, just different. Eventually, the Human pulls away.

“That was most intriguing. Perhaps you might be inclined to try it the Cardassian way?”

Garak takes his hand out from under Julian’s and holds it up. “Touch your palm to mine.”

Julian sets his hand gently against Garak’s. The Cardassian shifts his fingers into the grooves between Julian’s and gently spreads them so that their fingers interlocked. Knuckles brush and the webbing of skin between his fingers tingles slightly. Garak closes his eyes and lets out a soft sigh. It’s been a long time. 

Julian brings his face back towards Garak’s and kisses him again the human way while experimentally tightening and relaxing his fingers.

Eventually they pull apart, leaving palms alone gently pressed and faces close together. Julian bows his head towards Garak’s again but instead of pressing lips, begins rubbing the tips of their noses against one another and grins mischievously.

“Julian, might I ask what you’re doing?” 

“This is how Bajorans kiss. We have something like it on Earth but not quite so meaningful.”

“Hmm, well with all this tickling on my nose I might just sneeze and then neither of us will be happy.”

Julian stops and rests his forehead against Garak’s instead. Seeing Julian’s face so close, Garak finds he has to close his eyes to push back an influx of emotions. 

The chemistry and affection they have for one another can help in this mission but he can’t let it become anything more. He draws back. 

Julian licks his lips and looks at the sunlight streaming through the window, hitting their half eaten food. Neither know what to say and both have much on their minds.

Eventually Julian ventures, “Want to take a walk? It’s going to be autumn very soon and once the rains start, they won’t stop for another four months. We should enjoy the good weather while we can.”

Garak nods, relieved that he wouldn’t have to address this right away. “I would be delighted.” 

The pair makes their way outside and begin a trek along the familiar paths. It’s only mid afternoon and the sunlight streams through the leaf cover to dapple the road ahead. They pass obelisks and vines and many, many kernat plants.

They’re walking by the retaining wall when Julian says, “It’s amazing how much has happened in one summer.”

“Yes, it certainly is.” Garak isn’t really sure what specifically the Prylar is referring to.

“Here, I want to show you something.” 

Trees grow shorter and rounder as Julian leads him on a different unfamiliar route. This must be the orchard, Garak knows. Most of his time has been spent on the other side of the grounds. Eventually, the pair arrives at a single tree, different from the rest.

Its arms grow out spindly and jagged with a mix of small orange buds and bluish fruits growing close to the limbs.

“This is a moba tree,” Julian says. “They’re pretty rare and pretty strange in that they’re constantly flowering. Once a fruit falls or is taken off, another bud begins to form and flowers and becomes fruit. You’d think that would mean there’s tons of them around but they’re very picky about where they’ll grow.”

The Prylar takes a fruit off the tree. It looks round and fuzzy and soft and is a uniform cerulean on the outside. He takes a bite, chews and swallows in his usual ravenous way. Taking another bite, Julian offers him the fruit. He chews as he gestures the fruit forwards and the inside where he has bitten is a mottled red surrounded by the jagged edges of thin skin broken. It looks inviting. 

“I think I’ve had enough sweets for today, my dear, but thank you.”

Julian shrugs and takes another bite. “Suit yourself. Don’t know where you’ll get the chance to have moba again though.”

A couple drops of juice rivets between his fingers and Garak is tempted to lick them off. 

His time here is short he knows. The Vedek will be waiting.

“I believe it’s just about time for my next appointment, my dear.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

He is in more ways than Julian knows. Garak senses his time at this monastery is coming to an end. The information the Prylar inadvertently fed him has opened many new doors with new opportunities beyond them. Plans have changed and his time is better used elsewhere. He only awaits orders now.

Sometime after his final departure, Garak knows, this temple will be raided. Everything of value will be taken and everyone will be killed, either immediately or slowly under the heel of the Order. Prylars Bashir and Odo will be less fortunate. Most likely, they’ll both be allowed to live. 

The Order has many uses for a being like Odo and if they do not find his cooperation, they can at least understand his biology. Central Command must be full of fools to leave a creature like him under the study of Bajorans and then allow him to leave at his leisure. 

It is harder to say with Prylar Bashir. He will definitely be studied. It’s difficult to augment a creature to the extremes Bashir seems to imply and to understand how Humans go about performing genetic alteration would be extremely beneficial with so few specimens to study. There is a chance that the man’s memories might be wiped and refitted to serve as an agent of the Order. He would have to undergo cosmetic surgery of course, likely to pass as a Bajoran or another species. He hopes Tain will give him the privilege of being Bashir’s handler. 

Even now this man is a weakness of his. He has grown too fond.

They make their way back to the room and begin collecting the used dishware and containers of food. Julian tosses the eaten moba core into a corner wastebasket.

He makes small talk as they work, “I’ll see you again on the usual schedule?”

“Indubitably.”

“Maybe sometime we can arrange a longer visit where you stay a few days. You’ve been coming here long enough now that I don’t see why you couldn’t.”

“I would enjoy that, my dear.” He gives Julian a knowing smile and the man returns the look. He would likely find himself with a roommate on such a visit. They finish and stand at the panel separating them from the rest of the world.

“Well, let’s not keep the Vedek waiting then,” Garak says. Julian gives him a peck on the cheek and gives his hand a quick squeeze before sliding the panel door open.

And then they both go on their way. Minutes pass. The discarded fruit core slowly oxidizes into brown. 

An orchid tips out of its vase on the wall. It begins to elongate and gelatinize into a humanoid form. Odo stands and glances back at the wastebasket once before quickening out of the room.


	7. Deleted Fic: Sins of Fashion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T-rated deleted Garak/Bashir fic originally posted in May of 2019—Garak and Julian go to watch a springball match and Garak is appalled by Julian’s choice of outfit. Originally written for AuroraNova’s [Deadly Sins Fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Deadly_Sins_Garak_Bashir_Fan_Fest). This was the 2nd fic I ever finished. Heads up that it’s crack.
> 
> Julian’s clothing was inspired by some very informative donts of fashion articles. Since those are always written for women, his outfit ended up very feminine and I just didn’t like the vibe it gave this, like part of the joke was that he was dressing femininely or something (which it wasn’t intended as). I put the hours into writing this tho, so I figured I might as well reupload here if I’m baring my shame for all to see anyways.

0200 on the station that never sleeps. The door slides open and he walks in, legs up to here. Something in his eyes tells Garak he’s looking for a new suit. If only the doctor was actually in the market for one!

The past day had been the most painful and emotionally scarring experience of Garak’s life. And that was _including_ that time he blew Dukat to get access to his father’s files. Julian was never allowed to dress himself EVER again.

It had all started with an innocent comment. Funny how the worst things in life can start that way. Actually, not funny at all because that’s how nightmares start on Cardassia. But this one really _should’ve_ been innocent.

Garak had made many comments over the years about Federation fashion, Starfleet uniforms, and Bashir’s inability to put together a proper ensemble of clothing. This one though must have struck a chord. Garak couldn’t even remember what specifically was said in his barrage of insults, typical to their lunch flirtations.

But the next day after his shift at the infirmary, Julian turned up to Kira’s springball match wearing...not his usual uniform. All eyes turned on the doctor as he walked into the room and made his way towards Garak. Great guls, he could just die. Would people think he had dressed Julian this way?? He hoped not!

The shorts Julian wore were short. Really short. Very truly much too short and in some sort of pseudo cutoff style made of spandex.

Cut offs alone were normally enough to made Garak scream. He didn’t understand why some cultures were so persistent in wearing them. Why not wear pants designed to be desired length in the first place instead of sloppily chopping off chucks without hemming the edge? 

There was a planet he had once heard of that upon being introduced to cut off jorts had, through a series of related events, generated a violent political revolution. Nearly two hundred years later, they now wore an unflattering combination of size-too-small cut off jorts with nylon mesh crop tops as religious garb. 

The shorts Julian wore were not a size too small. In fact they were the perfect size, at least around the waist. The length though….well, to be said simply, his ass hung out. A lot.

And then there was that _other_ aspect of the doctor’s pantaloons. White and its cohorts, in Garak’s opinion, was never a good choice for clothing outside special occasions. Yes, it could enhance and bring out other colors through contrast. (He had been thinking about making a cream colored shirt for Julian to wear to dinner sometime.) But it also was a very weak color. Dirt and stains couldn’t be hid and were damnable to get out. And contrasting colors were easy to see through the material. 

Usually, the culprit Garak saw around was Human men who would wear white wrap around shirts on dates, not understanding the concept of an undershirt and as a result, flash their nipples through the fabric to his innocent Cardassian eyes. Such ridiculous things nipples were. 

Julian’s trouble was a bit more scandalous. The shorts were indeed white. To be fair, they did have a smattering of small black polka dots. But that wasn’t nearly enough to hide the reflection of light off the neon green underwear he was hiding underneath. 

Garak had an admittedly low amount of knowledge on types of underwear. Between not sweating and keeping their genitals internal the vast majority of the time, it just wasn’t something Cardassians had ever needed of come up with. This style, he thought, was called a thong. 

But the travesty didn’t end there. No, Julian had gone all out on his outfit. Like the jacket. It was corduroy (a horrible texture that made Garak cringe internally to think about touching) in a puffer style and colored in alternating stripes of dark brown and navy blue (No contrast!) down to just below where his pants started. 

Underneath he appeared to wear no shirt, exposing an indecent amount of skin. Instead the jacket was zipped up to just beneath his breast bone. Really, why would Julian show off his clavicles like that in public where Garak could do nothing about it! Unfair.

His head bore a turquoise ball cap with what appeared to be a pouch on the front. A cap sack was the name if memory served him correctly. (As a Cardassian, he knew with surety it did. Garak just enjoyed the implications of the silly Human expression.) The bag part was covered in those strange reversible sequins Humans seems to love to fiddle with in his store but never buy.

As the doctor made his way through the crowd, stepping on feet and shimmying his way over laps through the stands, Garak’s heart sank. He did NOT want to be associated with that outfit! Julian continued making a commotion on his way over to the lizard. Soon Garak was seeing more and more of this fashion wreck.

If Julian tried to make him touch his feet again tonight, Garak would adamantly refuse. They were currently adorned with some sort of cross between pumps and sandals and boots with a heel at least six inches high. Admittedly, Garak DID find the extra height attractive. He liked a man that could tower over him. But glued onto the straps and boot-esque portion covering up to his knees was bright pink, sparkly, faux fur. If this was real sehlat fur instead of a clearly cheap imitation, Garak might be able to forgive it. But instead his love would be spraining his ankle for fashion faux pas.

The feet in question revealed toes painted black with finger nails to match. Julian’s eyes were outlined in a similar shade of eyeliner. Not a bad look at all. It gave Garak ideas that he could perhaps work into an ensemble of his own design sometime.

Actually matching stylistically somewhat with the makeup were black leather gloves, fingerless and extending up his arms under his jacket. Again, not horrible with a few changed pieces. 

Finally, the doctor made it to him and sat down in the seat Garak had saved. “What did I miss?”

The Cardassian chose not to react to what was obviously there to incite a riot from him and pretended nothing was out of the ordinary. Inside he was seething. “Not too much. The Major has three up on the Vedek but its seeming he’s caught on to her bluffs.”

“Didn’t she beat him last tournament?”

“Yes, but his game is much improved.”

Bashir made a noise of acknowledgment. A few minutes went by as they watched the game. Garak WAS trying to watch. It was just that Julian seemed to have developed a need to move his leg about incessantly and they really WERE very distracting. Such strangely long appendages. 

Height in Cardassians usually came from taller torsos or longer necks. Tall humans though looked either as if the entirety of their bodies were enlarged to 150% in an art imaging program or had an average sized body full of strangely lanky and gangly limbs.

Garak was startled out of his thoughts by sudden movement. Bashir was talking. “It’s hot in here. I don’t know why I thought I’d need a coat in a room full of people.” No. No, no, no! If Julian took off his coat then he’d be sitting in the middle of a crowd next to an almost naked man! He was NOT doing this!

“Julian!” Garak whispered harshly. But it was too late. He had already unzipped his jacket and was shrugging off his coat. Garak could feel the burn of eyes on them. 

He was not sitting next to an almost naked man. Garak was instead sitting next to an almost almost naked man. Underneath the jacket, the Human wore what could loosely be defined as a shirt but what Garak would define more as fabric with parts removed for a quilt and then sewn together at a couple edges for stitching practice. 

The fabric was a garish orange and striped like that one animal Julian had told him about once, the one that cohabited with lions and bears. It hung off the edges of his shoulders and plunged down into a massive V connecting the two sides of the fabric at about his navel. The back was full of horizontal slits from mid to lower back and the bottom edge ended just above his pant line. It was hideous but by Guls, it was was better than nothing.

Julian sent him a cheeky grin clearly knowing what Garak had thought. The Cardassian rolled his eyes back, a bad habit picked up over years of lunches.

Quark walked past with a heated tray full of hot dogs and whistled appreciatively at Bashir. “You sure you don’t want to take that holosuite modeling gig? It doesn’t even have to use your face. I’m upping my offer to five free hours of holosuite time every week!”

“I told you Quark, I don’t need money. I basically get my holosuite sessions for free anyways as a Starfleet officer.”

“Maybe but just think of all those poor people you’re depriving of your body! _Somebody_ had to model for all those girls in your programs. Why not return the favor?”

Julian huffed. “I’ll _think_ about it.”

“That’s all I ask.” Quark continued onwards, yelling, “Hotdogs! Get your hotdogs here! Endorsed by the Emissary himself!” 

Garak leaned towards Julian, “I do hope you’re not actually planning on allowing him to use a holoscan of your body.”

Julian grinned cheekily, “Why? Jealous? Just think, even when I’m away at conferences I can still be there to argue Shakespeare with you!”

“I’d much prefer to argue with the real you I think.”

Garak was getting more comfortable. The novelty of Julian’s attire had worn off and those around them were invested in the match and trying to figure out how a hotdog was meant to be eaten instead of the duo. There was perhaps a perverse pleasure in allowing everyone to see and look and admire at what later Garak alone would be touching. 

Kira was doing well. Now that her opponent was catching on to her tricks, she was switching up her style from one full of bluffs and feigns to a much more aggressive and direct approach.

“Nachos! Hot nachos! We’ve got all the classics! Chili, tex-mex, cajun, barbeque, gagh, four-bean, broccoli-cheese, and a new flavor made for this very event! Hasperat!”

Nog was now standing a little further up the stands from them. He was home for summer vacation from the Academy. It was only summer in San Fran (it was not summer or really any recognizable season in most of the galaxy) and the growing seasons hadn’t mattered much to Earth for a few centuries, but like clockwork schools all over Earth let out even still.

“Nog!” Julian called. “Could I get one of the hasperat?”

“Indeed, good sir! That’ll be 10 slips.”

“Ten slips!” Garak scoffed. “I’ve seen these so called nachos Quark has been peddling. There’s no way it’s worth more than two.”

“Ah ah! This is an American tradition! Vendors walk the stands at events and sell something called ‘junk food’ to the crowd. And they don’t barter in America. The asking price is the final price. Please, honor the traditions of the Captain’s homeland!”

Julian forked over the sum. He was rewarded with a sad looking heap of tortilla chips in a red check paper food tray and covered in a sparing amount of hasperat makings and fake goopy cheddar cheese. 

“Good doing business with you!” and the Ferengi was on his way down the stands.

Julian offered some to Garak. He declined. Whatever was in that dish, Garak was not going to put in his body thank you very much! The human nibbled for a bit as they watched the game. The Vedek was catching up again. 

A heavy warm glob of something fell on Garak’s thigh and slowly began sliding down towards his inner leg. 

“Oh my Gods, I’m so sorry!”

Garak just smiled his scary smile and continued looking onwards at the game. “My dear, that was Andorian wool.”

“Oh, of course they didn’t give us any napkins!” Bashir gruffed, upset. “No, wait, hold on.”

Garak heard a zipping noise and glanced to see what the doctor was doing. Of course. That stupid hat. Julian had unzipped the front pouch and was taking out a few packets of wet wipes. After zipping the pouch closed again, Julian tore open a packet and unfolded a wipe. He scooped up most of the offending hasperat-adorned cheese blob with one napkin and then began rubbing at the stain on Garak’s pant leg. _What was he doing?_

“I think, doctor, that perhaps these pants are beyond fixing right now and best left to the saving graces of the dye revitalizer.” Garak could feel his ridges flushing as the human continued to rub, now pressing harder.

“No, I think its coming out-”

Garak grabbed his hand. “Dearest. We can continue working to remove the stain, if you wish, in the privacy of my quarters.” 

“Wha-oh….Oh...” Julian said with sudden understanding. He flushed pinkish the way Humans do. Adorable, Garak thought. Too bad the Bajorans around them were staring again. He hoped Kira would win soon so they could congratulate her and then he could change his pants.

Julian pulled his jacket back on a few minutes later, perhaps beginning to feel a bit self-conscious. One of the bloated corduroy sleeves brushed Garak’s hands. He shivered and winced internally. 

A sudden noise brought eyes to them again. _Really,_ Garak had achieved his weekly quota for unwanted attention already today and would be spending the next several cycles not leaving his quarters. “Jabara to Doctor Bashir.”

“Doctor Bashir here.”

“Medical emergency on Upper Pylon 3. Emergency surgery needed.”

“On my way!”

Bashir stood up, embarrassment gone and in full doctor mode now. He made his way to the nearest stairway which was unfortunately just past Garak. One of the heels made contact with Garak’s foot, crushing his big toe under its weight. His Order training hadn’t been for nothing. The lizard man just smiled bigger. There were days he missed the wire.

“I will be filing my taxes after the match.” Garak told the doctor as he finished climbing over him. Being a spy was all about being discreet. Garak only did paperwork in the safety of his quarters and now Julian (and no one else around them) would know where he would be later. And of course, letting Bashir know where he’d be was a clear indication Garak wanted him to drop by. 

“Um...Okay.” Julian blinked. A second passed and then he was off again down the stairs and impressively tripping only once in his heels. He sprinted out of the court looking like a foal on its first run. 

Garak knew Julian kept a spare uniform in the infirmary for quick changes out of street clothes during emergencies. He wondered about the impression the doctor would make on his nurses and patient arriving for surgery while clearly wearing a bright green thong. That was assuming the doctor didn’t manage to break his own ankle along the way of course.

A sudden cheering brought Garak out of his thoughts. The commotion made by Julian had distracted the Vedek allowing Kira to get her winning shot. Garak _had_ had the intention of congratulating Kira on her win but as there was a thick cluster of Bajorans surrounding her and he had had enough of them today, he instead walked past the group and gave her small a nod when he caught her eye. 

Back at his quarters, Garak changed clothes and attempted to save the fabric of his pants. Unfortunately, it was too late. The pants were a lost cause. This pattern wasn’t sold anymore so he would be forced to feed the entire suit to the replicator. A shame.

He dressed in a teal outfit instead that complimented the grey tones of his scales and had a scandalous neckline, showing off his neck ridges and dipping to where his chula was just visible above the fabric. Two could play at Julian’s game.

He waited and began on his taxes. Garak had learned over time to very selective about which laws he broke. Tax evasion was something the Cardassian had found out the hard way was not worth it in the long run. (As he had once told Julian, the best lies were rooted in truth after all.)

Eventually he submitted his forms and began working on orders. Keiko had given him the designs for what she called a kigurumi and asked him to make a pugabeast (Molly’s current favorite animal) inspired one. He thought a regnar one might look better personally but so far the project was turning out very well.

After dinner and a couple hours reading the newest book Julian had given him, a muckraker novel called _The Jungle_ , Garak resigned himself to a night alone and began preparing for bed. Maybe….just maybe…...he had been too discreet about wanting Julian to come over. No. Julian just had too much of that Federation bluntness and impairment towards subtlety fed into him. That was the only explanation.

Just in case, he eventually sent off a message to Julian that his new suit was ready to be picked up at any time. They had established the phrase as a codeword for their meetings shortly after the Tahna Los incident.

And then the Wormhole opened for a late night station departure. The regular trips through the passage were like a tower chiming the time to station resident. It was 0200. And then the quarter’s doors opened.

Julian strode in, all limbs and blissfully (or perhaps dolefully) devoid of clashing colors and obscene amounts of skin. Not that the uniform was anything flattering to the doctor’s figure, just that perhaps...there were worse alternatives. At least for being in public.

Julian immediately began rambling. “I would’ve been here earlier, I’m sorry if I made you wait. I had no idea that surgery was going to take almost ten hours! There was so much shrapnel to remove though….and then the nurses kept giving me weird looks the whole time even though I changed right away! I mean, sure, I still had eyeliner on and everything but really my outfit wasn’t that bad and it’s not like we haven’t all seen each other naked before!”

“I-what?”

“Oh-oh, well, you see I give them all their yearly physicals and I’m not allowed to operate on or examine myself alone as a Starfleet rule and I haven’t always been careful enough during hook-ups so every once in awhile I used to catch something and so I have a couple nurses to help me on the exam and um, I’m not having orgies with my nurses! I promise! That would be unethical and unfair to you.”  
“I implied nothing of the sort, my dear.”

There was an awkward pause. “Um, so….did you still want help with that stain?”


	8. WIP: Garak the Pornstar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M-rated Garak/Bashir WIP—Garak is desperate for money on the newly christened Deep Space Nine (what Bajoran wants to buy from a Cardassian?) and is pointed by Quark in the direction of some opportunities to make some money on the side (aka Cardassian fetish porn). Written February 2019.
> 
> This would’ve been a multichapter endeavor, covering the first season or two and ending sometime around the Wire with garashir endgame. Would’ve involved Julian ‘discovering’ some sensitive content and Garak earning himself a Bajoran stalker/fan. OOC? Maybe!

Really, he should have realized sooner how this was going to go. When the Bajoran Provisional Government accepted his application for rent to set up a tailor shop on Terok Nor, Garak had been pleasantly surprised. He thought he would have to reveal his knowledge of some unfortunate bits of information to a few people, arrange a couple accidents, even resort to the dreaded act of petitioning the Federation that as they ran the station, he could not be refused rent based on his race and the actions of the people he just so happen to share origins with. 

In the end, it was simple. He would run his business from the promenade and pay his due of latinum to the Bajorans on their monthly cycle. An ideal arrangement. Garak had only desired sanctuary from his people and by staying on this station, what protection the Federation would deign to give from the Bajorans. That a stable wormhole would appear at the edge of the Bajoran system and his little port would stand guard over it was unknowable but a definitive plus. 

The first week of his exile had been difficult to be sure. Cardassians were a very social species and to be publicly ostracized from the group and left for dead among animals that were once on the bottom of his food chain was agonizing. Like a snake trapped with a hoard of rodents, he was slowly picked away at. Biting comments were made in his wake. Hateful glances and stares came from every corner. And yet most observers of his ordeal would comment of how tragic it is, for rodents to be trapped with such a serpent. There was no escape. 

But, Garak had reasoned, their new orbit was at least sure to bring in business. His overall circumstances would remain unchanged but at least his livelihood would certainly keep him busy and a little extra latinum in the pocket couldn’t hurt him here. 

It didn’t take long for him to see the problem. The problem with being a Cardassian running a clothing store on a Bajoran station was that most of the population was Bajoran. It wasn’t that Garak hadn’t anticipated the former subjects of the Cardassian empire wouldn’t be very interested in buying clothes from someone who was largely rumored to still be a spy for said power. It was that he had over estimated the Federationer’s disinterest in offending their Bajoran neighbors by wearing his products. 

He had some business. There were some Federation individuals who were willing to put up with the stigma gained from the Bajorans by being the most fashionably dressed on the station via him. And though most travellers through the wormhole came prepared with their wardrobes, there was a good number who came back through with items worn and in need of repair or garments bought from Gamma quadrant that weren’t designed to fit their species body shape just right.

It wasn’t enough. In hindsight, the Provisional Government had likely realized this from the beginning. In the past, Garak had once prided himself on always being one step ahead of everyone else. It was what kept him alive. And now his business was going to fold after just under six months of opening its doors.

The question of where he would go, what he would do weighed on the back of his mind. Bajor was not the Federation. One was not gifted the means of life merely through their own happenstance of existing. He needed money. No Bajoran would hire him and inquiring would likely get him beat in some dark corner of the station sometime after he asked. 

He could perhaps threaten Quark into hiring him. It would need to be something away from the public eye and yet not illegal. Garak had no mind to put his presence in this system on the precipice more so than it already was. It wasn’t that he was afraid to engage in illegal activities. He simply did not trust that Quark and his associates wouldn’t scapegoat him the first time something went awry. And besides, the idea of working under Quark was something that would make anyone shudder. 

And yet, as it would turn out, Quark was the answer to his problems after all.

* * *

Garak sat with his drink at the bar. If he wasn’t going to have enough to push his shop into the next month, there was no reason he couldn’t use his precious few strips of latinum to drown his problems. Morn sat a few seats down, chatting up a Vulcan from the science vessel scheduled to depart the next morning. The Lurian was using his ‘Last night in the Alpha Quadrant’ gambit again which, based on the Vulcan’s intense interest in what he was saying, seemed to be working.

Quark cozied his way over to fill his drink. “At the rate you’re going, I don’t have to worry about who’s going to drink all this extra kanar after all.”

Garak was whammied enough at this point that he had to think for a few seconds on how to compose his response. He was going to make a clever remark about how in that case, the price needn’t be so high but Quark continued on in his silence. “So, how’s business?”

“Oh, you know,” Garak gestured vaguely. “Fashions come and go. I’m predicting longer dresses will be popular next season.”

“Yeah?” Quark said distractedly. “Maybe I’ll have a look at them for the dabo girls. Listen, Garak.”

“Yes?”

“How would you like to make some extra latinum on the side?”

“I am generally amenable to the idea. That would depend, of course, how it is you propose I make it.”

“Nothing illegal, I assure you! Not in my reputable bar. It’s a unique position, one only you could fill, and believe me, it’s a good paying job. I have some friends who make holos-”

“Let me stop you right there, Quark! I am not interest in playing evil Gul for Bajoran propaganda.”

“No, no, you misunderstand me,” Quark quickly reassured him, waving his hand as if to dispel the idea from the air. “These aren’t holos the provisional government would have any interest in nor would the more religious of the Bajoran folk.”

“I see,” Garak said shortly, kanar-fused mind beginning to piece together where this was going. 

Quark might say that these ‘holos’ were innocent and apolitical but Garak knew better. Pornography, like all other forms of media on Cardassia, was controlled by the State. And like other forms of media, it was filled with subliminal messages about the superiority of the Cardassian race and the importance of the family. Any cultural form could be twisted into a message by the right hand.

But. But. This was money. Money bought him time on this station. Protection. He had considered employment under Quark before. This wasn’t illegal under the Federation or Bajor. He wouldn’t be working under Quark. But, if he were honest with himself, anyone who was ‘friends’ with a sleaze like Quark and made pornography for a living was probably worse. Still, Garak was drunk and he was desperate. 

“Where might I meet these friends?”

* * *

The friends were worse. Not because they were involved with the Orion syndicate or were Risians looking for something new to sell at the gift shop like Garak had feared, but because they were Bajorans. Garak met them in a holosuite two days after his encounter with Quark. He sat across from the three in a simulated old Bajor cafe to discuss business. 

“Welcome, we’re pleased you made it,” started a soft spoken male. His hair was a mess of dark curls, cropped short but not short enough to hide its natural disarray. Garak didn’t understand the evolutionary benefit of having hair which so naturally was unmanageable and likely to snag on passing corners. Impractical, unlike the simple locks of Cardassians, heavy and linear. But could Garak really begrudge a lesser species for their faults?

“Yes, I imagine you are,” the Cardassian returned. 

After he made no move to continue on, the Bajoran man pressed onwards. “My name is Eda Landu. These are my affiliates Jepa Nadyn and Kino Stal.” He gestured to the two women sitting to his right. “You are Mister Garak, I presume?”

“You presume correctly, though Garak alone will suffice.”

“I understand you own a clothing shop on the second level of the station’s promenade.”

“I do contribute to rectifying the horrendous crimes of fashion that seem to plague the station since Star Fleet arrived, yes.”

“And how is your mission to save the humble populace from such an abysmal state going?” Eda asked, a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth.

Really, this attempt to make him think about the dismal state of his business and then offer a ‘lucrative’ offer was heavy handed and sad. Garak was not going to make this easy on them.

“It is progressing.” He considered stopping there and making the Bajoran push awkwardly ahead but the conversation’s stiltedness was beginning to wear thin. “I understand you’re an artist by trade.”

“Oh, I supposed that is one way of saying it!” the Bajoran man laughed, slightly too jovially. “Though the holo industry is taking some time to find its flame again after- well...” he trailed off awkwardly, trying not to offend his guest so early in negotiations. He cleared his throat and began again, “Our little corner of the industry specializes in fulfilling certain kinds desires of the populace, particularly those which are difficult or otherwise non advisable to seek out on one’s own. There are certain popular tastes, we find hard to cater to, difficult to find the right ingredients for and well, substitutes and fakes simply won’t do. That’s where you come in. We believe you may be able fill where we are lacking.”

“Say no more, I would be delighted to help your production.” Garak smiled, head tilted innocently.

Eda sat with surprise undisguised on his face. “You would? Well, that’s wonderful! I frankly expected- I mean, not to offend or-”

Garak waved him off, still smiling sweetly. “No offense taken. Honestly, I don’t see why you’d think I wouldn’t be amenable to such an offer. I’m always ready to enhance the wardrobe of any willing individual and to get the chance to set an example of what real fashion could look like to the world!” Garak paused dramatically. “I would be humbled to run your costume department.”

The grin froze on Eda’s face and he side glanced at his companions for help. A woman with bronzed flesh tones and an interesting method of holding one’s hair up broke the sudden shift. “Look, we know you Cardassians don’t like to talk about shit frankly but I’m going to lay this out for you real simple.” Garak raised his eyebrows at this Bajoran’s bluster, talking to a former master of her race that way. “We run a small porn studio that specializes in interspecies holos. Our audience is mostly Bajoran and lot of them have certain feelings towards Cardassians. Some people like to take their anger out sexually. Others just have a thing for Spoonheads.” She shrugged . “Unfortunately for us, the only Cardassian left in this system seems to be you. We know you can’t be getting many sales and that your business is struggling. So are you interested or not?”

“Madam!” Garak sputtered with an offended air. “If speaking in such a way towards me and using slurs is how you think you will gain a new star, you are certainly wrong!”

“If you star in these films, you’re going to have to get used to being talked to like that a lot. Can’t be any worse than what you hear walking from the habitat ring to your shop anyways.”

Garak had to admit, the possibility of getting to argue with this woman at a later time was intriguing. Even if he would likely end up humiliated by it. “And what is your name?”

“I’m Jepa Nadyn. I’m a cowriter on scripts and I design all the sets. This around us now? Some of my early work.”

“Charmed,” Garak smiled.

[MAJOR TIME AND CHAPTER JUMP]

Garak examined himself carefully in a mirror. He looked perfectly ordinary. Progressively portly, impeccably dressed, of a dignified age, and yet, yet evidently something must be different.

Being the only Cardassian within several lightyears normally brought some attention, sure. But the number of lingering glances sent his way over the past week or so had risen exponentially. It was worrying but he couldn’t seem to find a logical source. Tensions within Bajor over politics and religion were at a low and Cardassia had been politely minding her own business for a while now. Not even Dukat had made a visit in months.

But even so, here Garak was, inspecting himself in a dressing room mirror to see if maybe he had managed to miss an unfortunate smudge of frosting on his face for an entire week. Even Julian had begun acting slightly strange a couple nights before.

A chime rang announcing a customer entering the shop. Garak composed himself into his best customer service face and made his way into the mainroom.

A rather plain looking Bajoran man was examining a display. 

“Ah, welcome to Garak’s Clothiers! I see you’re examining the Janitza Province winter garb. A very good choice for traipsing around rough terrain in the cold.”

“Oh, ah, I was just looking. Actually, I was hoping I could get a consultation.”

“Of course. What sort of outfit were you looking for?”

“Something versatile. Something that maybe I could wear around town, to an event, for business.”

“That’s certainly doable. Did you have any style in particular in mind?”

“Style?”

“Clients often have a certain look or even specific outfit in mind that they’d like to base their clothing off of.” 

Garak took out a padd and gestured.

“Bajoran traditional, vulcan [INSERT NAME], highland [INSERT NAME], [INSERT NAME] town, Federation modern.”

“Well, Federation isn’t really my type but I do like to consider myself a modern man.”

“Romulan chic has some similarities with a distinct flair.”

“What about Cardassian?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What sort of styles are popular on Cardassia?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know. They are a rather secretive people after all. Difficult to get information about outside the union.”

“Aren’t your clothes in the Cardassian style?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid that the cycles of fashion have moved on without me. If you’re looking for modern, well, you’ll be a few years behind.”

“Oh, well, maybe the new and now isn’t all it made out to be. I can appreciate a well aged look.”

Oh. Well, he’d need to nip this in the bud. But then again, attraction was an easy feeling to manipulate. He could see if this man had the answers he was looking for. And besides, if not, it would also be easy to manipulate this into a sale.

“I see. Well I’ll leave this padd with you to look through and see if there’s any styles on there that you like. I have a few commissions to be working on so I’ll be doing that until you decide.”

He flipped through for a few minutes before stopped at one. “How about this one? Risian formal.”

“Ah, well, if modern is your look, you’ll certainly have it. However, I’m not sure you’ll be allowed in public in most places on Bajor.”

“Ah well, maybe I’ll still get it for when I go on vacation. Tell me, when you picture it on me, what color do you think goes best?”

Garak pretended to think.

“Well, you do have a rather strikingly pallor skin tone so we can safely say yellow is off the table. It would only make you look sickly. But perhaps a nice burgundy could even it out.”

For all his insinuations about being a spy, Garak truly did take his work as a tailor seriously. He would never give a customer bad advice.

“Mr [INSERT NAME]. I’m flattered truly, but I’m simply not interested. I’ll still gladly help you pick and make your clothes but I must ask that you desist these advances towards me.”


	9. WIP: Orgy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T-rated WIP where everyone is fucking everyone behind Sisko’s back. Sisko finds out. Written June 2020.
> 
> This fic is very nearly a finished work. Needs some more editing but the story’s all there. However, I don’t like it. Something about it feels...weird to me. Idk. I don’t care enough to get it anywhere near where I’d feel comfortable posting it on its own so I figured I would dump it here. The title would’ve been _“Two’s company, Three’s a crowd, Four’s a party, (Deep Space) Nine’s an Orgy”._

“Computer, the staff meeting was scheduled for this time in this room, correct?”

“That is correct. Calendar appointment titled ‘Staff meeting’ was scheduled to begin at 0900 in the boardroom.”

“Then where’s my damn crew!” 

Sisko leaned back in his chair and kicked off in an agitated spin. It wasn’t like this was unexpected business. These were weekly check-ins that they’d had for years. They were scheduled out on the staff calendar for the next eighteen months! 

The chronometer on his padd flicked to 0920. He’d had enough. Ben would drag them out one by one if he had to.

“Computer, where is Major Kira located?”

“Major Kira Nerys is located in habitat level H2, Chamber 204.”

The O’Brien’s quarters. It was common knowledge that the Major had become rather close to the couple ever since the business with Kirayoshi. Whatever her relationship with them, it was their business, but Ben would stand for it getting in the way of doing their jobs.

“And where’s Chief O’Brien?”

“Chief of Operations Miles O’Brien is located at habitat level H2, Chamber 204.”

Not surprising. Still, Ben didn’t know exactly what they were to each other. It could just be something going on with the kids. The Captain could certainly understand the urgency and need to be there for something like that. He would give them the benefit of the doubt for now and a firm talking to later.

“Alright, computer, where’s Dax?”

“Lieutenant Commander Jadzia Dax is located in habitat level H2, Chamber 204.”

And that was a bit more strange. If the Old Man was involved, it couldn’t be anything good. Maybe a party planning committee that had gone overboard. He hoped he hadn’t forgotten yet another birthday or anniversary.

“Computer, when is the next celebration event on my calendar?”

“Your next scheduled celebration event is Jacob Sisko’s birthday, exactly three months from today.”

Alright, so maybe not that. 

“Computer, what are the locations of Commander Worf, Doctor Bashir, and Constable Odo?”

“Lieutenant Commander Worf, Doctor Julian Bashir, and Security Chief Odo are located in habitat level H2, Chamber 204.”

His suspicions only rose higher. There was definitely something odd was going on here and he intended to find out what.

Ben briefly considered comming the Major, but thought better of it. If there was something going on, benign or, more likely, trouble, he would prefer they didn’t get a chance to hide their strange behavior. Instead, he opted to confront this head on, at the source of the trouble. 

By the time Ben arrived at the O’Brien’s quarters, his worry and annoyance had both increased tenfold. Hopefully this was all nothing. But if it was, could they not have scheduled their little get-together for a time that didn’t overlap with their status meeting?

He pressed the chime and waited. Nothing at first. Then maybe ten seconds went by and just as he was about to try again, a crescendo of shuffling began through the door. He could hear indistinguishable murmurs and shouted whispers but otherwise got no response. 

Alright, this had gone on long enough. 

Ben entered his override code and the door slid open. The sight in front of him was one of chaos. He hadn’t known exactly what he had expected to find here. A disaster zone perhaps, but definitely not THIS kind of disaster. 

The whole senior crew was in front of him and then some. His search over, this should be a somewhat gratifying sight, but it was marred by the small problem that all were in various state of undress. Apparently, the Captain’s interruption had occurred in the middle of the group’s endeavor to find their respective pieces of clothing from where they had been strewn about. 

At Ben’s sudden presence, everyone had frozen where they were. The whir of the door closing behind him was almost deafening in the silence. Ben took a moment to take in the panorama before him. 

There was Odo, the only one fully dressed and in uniform. Though as a changeling, it couldn’t be too hard to find one’s clothes. He stood in his usual straight back posture and seemed utterly nonplussed with the situation.

Next to him stood Doctor Bashir in lavender undershirt and nothing else. From waist down, he was naked and saved Sisko’s eyes by awkwardly cupping his bits with both hands.

Further on was Worf, who stood in modest and proud form, a blanket wrapped around him firmly and covering everything from armpit to the floor. 

Jadzia...well, Ben had seen this gambit before from Dax, albeit in the form of the ineffable Curzon. She stood tall and proud, hands on her hips, and fully in the nude. Yes, the spots really did go ALL the way down.

Quark was next. A naked Ferengi was not something Benjamin had ever desired to look upon. To be fair, Quark was wearing underwear. Only, they were clearly not his underwear. It was a pair of boxers, many sizes too large and held up only by a hand clutching the elastic above his waist.

Then his eyes came upon Mr Garak. He was admittedly a bit of a comic sight in such an absurd situation. The Cardassian was completely without a scrap of his finely crafted clothes. Instead, he looked indigent and utterly ridiculous as he made no attempt to cover whatever the slit was that he possessed in place of recognizable genitals, and kept both hands firmly shielding his two...spoons, one on his chest and the other over his slit.

Within closer proximity to Garak than Ben had ever thought he’d see was Miles O’Brien. And with him came a sight Ben never wanted to see. Miles was bucknaked and turned around, bent over to shuffle through a heap of tangled clothing. 

Keiko struggled with detangling Kira from an undershirt wrapped around her arms and head next to him. They, thankfully, were both somewhat dressed; Keiko in a long nightshirt and Kira in her undergarments. Ben had already seen more skin this morning from his station staff than he ever wanted to.

He took this all in a matter of seconds as everyone looked back with varying expressions of embarrassment and surprise. Dax, the sole exception, wore her look with pride.

Finally, Ben clapped his hands together once and gave his best You better explain yourselves right now smile. The Chief turned around, startled, and reddened at the sight of his commander before adopting a similar posture to Bashir.

“Well! I see there was a party here I wasn’t invited to. How convenient that no one looked at their schedule to notice there was a staff meeting, just like every week, on this day, at this time, that’s been scheduled for more than a year.” 

He paused for effect before deadpanning, “Would anyone care to explain themselves?”

O’Brien, always the brave soldier, stepped up to the plate. “Uh, well, you see, sir...um, the thing is….It’s all Julian’s fault!”

Bashir looked affronted. “Me?!”

Kira joined in on the Chief’s side. “You were in charge of setting the wake up alarm!”

“I did set the wakeup alarm!”

“Then obviously you turned it off in your sleep or something.”

Bashir opened his mouth, ready to argue but Ben beat him to it. “Well, this all just opens more questions for me. Why don’t we start at the beginning, shall we? Because I’ve just come in here to find the station’s entire command crew, all out of uniform, or any clothing at all apparently, along with a known spy, a known criminal, and Mrs O’Brien during their shift hours having some sort of sleepover!”

Quark piped up, “I swear, Captain, it’s not how it looks! See, I was challenged to game of tongo and--”

Odo interrupted, “I assure you, Captain, this is all exactly how it looks.”

Eyes turned towards him, betrayed.

“It’s not as if the Captain wouldn’t figure it out eventually regardless. Chief? You were our host. Why don’t you explain?”

O’Brien floundered like a fish. “Uh, well, me and Keiko, we’re married.”

He paused there and Keiko rolled her eyes, taking over. “We’re married but that doesn’t mean we don’t have eyes or that we don’t like other people. We like to keep our marriage open. Nerys has been dating us for a while now.”

Keiko elbowed Miles. He added, “And, uh, me and Julian, well, we’re friends but sometimes we’re maybe a little more than friends.” 

Jadzia continued the sharing circle. “It’s the same with me and Worf. Kira and I spend some time together every now and then, and Worf has his own time with Garak.”

The Klingon refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

Kira was in a similar state, looking stiff and out of her element.

Quark pitched in. “Odo made me read one of your hew-mon books Eddington lent him, Les Miserables? You ever heard of that?”

“I’m familiar with it, yes.”

“Then, I don’t need to say anything more.” He gave an exaggerated, salacious wink at Odo who returned an ever suffering look.

“We might hold a...connection, occasionally. But its a purely interrogative technique, I assure you.”

“If that’s an interrogation-”

Odo interrupted, “I am, however, seeing Major Kira. Though, I’ve been known to question Garak as well on occasion.”

Garak stuttered out a laugh then looked chagrined at having brought attention to himself. “Yes, well, try as you might to draw information from me, I assure you the only intelligence I have to share is station gossip. Word around station is that Doctor Bashir is seeing a mysterious and handsome gentleman.”

He gave the Doctor’s form a pointedly lascivious look. Bashir made a small noise in his throat before choking out, “Everyone knows we’ve been dating for years now, Garak!”

“I appreciate the compliment, doctor, but for all we know, they could’ve been talking about Mr O’Brien or some other secret lover.”

Benjamin wasn’t going to wait and watch these two flirt. “I would like someone here to get to the point and tell me what exactly you are all doing here!”

Odo saved the day. “Its a time saving measure, really. Considering our social circles are all interlinked and the large number of us involved, it got difficult to navigate and line up schedules. So, occasionally, we have gather enmasse. We all keep our individual still, but this way we ensure that everyone gets at least some time together.”

“It’s an orgy,” Quark added helpfully.

“And dinner!” the Chief defended.

“And how long has this been going on behind my back?”

Bashir answered, “A few months. We’d invite you, Captain. It’s not that you’re not attractive, but well, as our commanding officer, that would be unethical and honestly, you’re a bit of a father figure to us.”

Garak piped up, “Rest assured that I do not view you in any sort of fatherly way, Captain. If you should ever like to schedule a private fitting, I’d be more than willing to indulge you.”

“Thank you, Mr Garak, but that won’t be necessary.” 

Ben’s smile was tight and his nose wrinkled a bit at the thought of having any sort of private ‘fittings’ with the Cardassian. 

“Frankly, I’m not sure what to even say to all this. So I won’t. Whatever you choose to do in your freetime is your own business. But. If it ever interferes with your jobs again, in any way, then it will be my business. I’ll give you all an hour to make yourselves presentable and then I want my officers in the boardroom. No excuses.”

Ben left, a distant, “Nice going, Julian,” as the door shut behind him.

He sighed and began to make his way to the nearest replicator. It was going to be a two raktajino day.


	10. WIP: Kinktober-Period Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M-rated WIP from Kinktober—Garak and (trans!)Julian decide they want to try for a baby and so Julian comes off T. Garak is worried and distressed when Julian’s menstrual cycle starts up. Written for the prompt period sex.
> 
> This was one where I really tried hard to stretch myself. Period sex squicks me out but I was running out of ideas so I thought I’d give it a go and expand my horizons. Ultimately what prevented me from going any further than this was that in my research, I found restarting menstruation after being on T for a long time is an awful, awful painful process. I could’ve glazed over it and put in the author’s note that the depiction here wasn’t accurate but it just didn’t feel honest or right to me. And frankly, wasn't super happy with what I have started here either.

Julian gave himself another dose of painkiller just as Garak came through the front door, looking agitated.

“I must apologize, my dear. They didn’t have any delavian chocolates in stock. I wasn’t sure which you would prefer so I bought several varieties. Betazoid, German--”

“Elim, it’s fine! Thank you. You know you didn’t have to go running out the door like that. I’m not pregnant yet. It’s just a craving.”

“Well, excuse me for being concerned for my mate’s well-being!”

“Elim, look at me. It’s going to be okay. It’s just a period.”

“It’s just a-- You haven’t stopped bleeding for days!”

“Yes, and that’s normal. I told you what would happen.”

“I don’t understand it, frankly. Your body creates the nutrient lining to grow a child, passes an egg, and then violently forces that lining out. I have never heard of that in any other species. Not even the Bajoran body is so wasteful.”

“I know. It’s rare and not a lot of animals on Earth do it either. But I promise I’ll be okay. A little blood and pain for a week tops, and then it will be over. It’s a good thing really. This means soon we’ll be ready to start trying to conceive.”

“I wouldn’t call it a little. You ruined our sheets when it started and I can smell it. You’re very fragrant, my dear, and you’ve been bleeding for three days.”

“This really does worry you, doesn’t it?”

“Tain always said sentiment is the greatest weakness of all. If I had truly understood what the cost would be to you, I never would’ve allowed you to do this, my dear.”

“Alright, this will sound a bit strange but what if I showed it to you?”

“Show...it?”

“Where I’m bleeding from and what’s coming out.”

“You seem rather set on doing this.”

“Ahem, ah. Well, if I’m being perfectly honest, one of the side effects is that sometimes it can make you a bit horny. And I’ve reached that stage so, well, I thought, maybe I could convince you to put a finger or two in?” 

[receives a look from Garak]

“God, I’m being a prick, aren’t I? You’re just being concerned for my well-being and stressed out by the smell while I’m out here trying to convince you to--”

“Julian! I think I might be interested in seeing how your body functions. It’s important for me to understand after all if we want to be able to conceive.”


	11. WIP: Kinktober-Exhibitionism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E-rated WIP from Kinktober—Julian takes Garak to a sex club and shows him off. Written for the prompt exhibitionism.
> 
> I stopped writing this because I felt it was verging too far into OOC territory. Admittedly, it was largely inspired by another, much longer fic I had once read where Julian and Garak got into a BDSM relationship with Julian as the dom. For part of the fic, he brought Garak around to a Bajoran sex club. I don’t remember its name nor have I been able to find it again but it was on ao3 and was super, super good. Hmu if you know it.

Garak cursed ever thinking this was a good idea.

He’d always enjoyed the feeling of eyes of him, of being the center of attention, of being seen. But as his stint on Deep Space Nine had taught him, there was a difference between being the center of attention because of the outfit you wore and because you were reviled for a fundamental fact of your existence.

And yet, somehow he’d let himself be wrangled into this. Because as much as Garak loved having all eyes on him, he was nothing compared to Julian Bashir’s exhibitionism. 

Julian seemed to need the constant attention, the praise, and he enjoyed showing off, including when it came to his lovers.

As such, Garak was currently on his knees, hand wrapped around Julian’s cock, and mouth held open while onlookers observed from the corners of the room.

They were far from the only couple in the room being far more amorous than ordinary company would allow and were far from the center of the room but they were the center of attention. A Cardassian at a Bajoran sex club was unheard of. Would be considered insulting to many and bring forth mental images of some Gul lording himself over a group of women or propositioning other patrons unsolicited.

But Garak’s presence was the exception.

They’d discussed his presence at length with the proprietors beforehand, not wanting to make the trip all the way to Bajor only to be barred at the doors. They’d had to pay extra but that was to be expected.

It was agreed upon that they would come to the ‘exotics’ night, when aliens were encouraged to visit and any regulars would expect to see a few foreign and potentially off putting faces.

And now here they were.

Garak’s fist slid and twisted over Julian cock. It was just above eye level and he had to crane his neck to look up at it. He found it easiest if that’s what he focused on totally, ignoring the stares and whispers.

It wasn’t a hardship to do, he was very fond of this particular cock after all. 

He had to wonder if there was a metaphor that their audience read into it. The Cardassians who had once ravaged Bajor were defeated and held at bay by the Federation’s protection. And now here Garak was, subservient and letting himself be used for a human’s pleasure in a room full of Bajorans.

Julian’s hand ran through his hair, petting him. Garak could tell when he was about to come when the fingers suddenly tightened and pulled at the strands. 

Garak closed his eyes for it.

Hot liquid splashed across his face, the majority landing in his mouth but streaks hitting his cheeks, his eyelashes, his hair. He knew he must look a mess.

He stroked Julian through it and then cautiously opened his eyes.

Julian looked positively lewd above him, eyes focused him and breathing heavy. Garak couldn’t imagine what he himself looked like. 

Julian plopped boneless into a chair near them and Garak momentarily worried that he was about to fall asleep as he often did after the act.

But instead, he pulled Garak up and kissed him shamelessly, getting his fluids on them both.

A few fingers snuck down and broached his slit. Garak allowed himself to squirm at Julian’s touch. They were, ultimately, putting on a show and Garak intended to make it a good one.

Their lips parted and the fingers disappeared and then Garak was being shifted around so that his back was to Julian’s chest and his legs hung open to either side of Julian’s, exposing him. The fingers returned. 

A small crowd gathered in front of them to watch

Julian used two to hold him open, stretching his most private places open for all to see, while his other hand continued to stroke into him.


End file.
